


Appoggiatura

by ceeainthereforthat



Series: Appoggiatura 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Castiel, Classical Music, Consent, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Musicians, Oral Sex, Paddling, Phone Sex, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Snowballing, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Top Dean, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 121,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceeainthereforthat/pseuds/ceeainthereforthat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel leaves the religious commune of Heaven Farms to study classical piano after winning a full scholarship paid for by the Deanna Campbell Memorial Foundation, and answers an ad in the campus newspaper: 1 bedroom to let. Meals provided. 50mb wifi, quiet odd music student preferred.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Audition

_1 bedroom to let. Meals provided. 50mb wifi, quiet odd music student preferred._  

Dean knew that ad was only going to stem the frenzy a little bit, but at least his voicemail was full of people saying, “I’m a music student! Oh, and my friends say I’m odd.” Most of them didn’t realize that _quiet, odd, music student_ wasn’t best two out of three. But it’s been days and he’s only had a few people who seemed all right to come by, and none of them had passed so far. 

He had been slicing and de-seeding blanched tomatoes when the phone rang, and he wiped his fingers without thinking and answered the phone on speaker before he remembered he was letting them go to voicemail. 

"Hello," he said, since he had to make the best of it. 

"Good morning," a low voice responded. "My name is Castiel Bauer. I saw your ad about a room to let. May I answer your questions?" 

There. That was the politest, oddest phonecall he'd gotten yet. "You're a music student?" 

"Yes. I am just beginning music school. I got a scholarship." 

"If you're just beginning, you're on the fast track to student housing," Dean said. "Can you tell me why you want to live off campus?" 

"It's not peaceful," Castiel said. "And ... I have found that people are unwilling to vacate the practice rooms on residence. I'm certain that they only want to excel, but it hampers my desire to excel.” 

Definitely quiet, Dean decided. "You got a scholarship? Which one? 

"The Deanna Campbell Memorial Scholarship," Castiel said, and Dean quit slicing tomatoes. 

"So piano, then." 

"I have a portable, and it has headphones," Castiel said. 

That might do for midnight inspiration, but not for the right housemate. "I'd like you to come and see me, Castiel. I'm here all morning." 

"I can come right away. I am on the campus." 

"So am I," Dean said, and gave Castiel the address.

*

 

Dean answered his door ten minutes later and thought, _He's got odd in the bag._  

Castiel Bauer had ruddy skin that had spent days in the sun, blue eyed, dark hair cut short to fight a curl. He had on a white shirt that looked old fashioned, heavy and sturdy, and black wool pants that looked old fashioned too. his boots were black, shiny, but old. he wore a brand new looking belt, the kind worn with jeans. 

"Good morning," he said. "I am--" 

"Castiel Bauer," Dean said. "Dean Winchester. Please, come in." 

Castiel stepped inside and immediately toed out of his boots. Dean didn't know if that was habit, or observation of his own sock feet. 

"You are cooking tomatoes," Castiel said. "Did I interrupt your canning?" He said it like it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. 

"Kind of," Dean said. "I haven't gotten anything in cans yet." 

He'd told this guy he canned tomatoes. What on Earth. Castiel, with his slightly just out of time clothes, looked at what he could see of the rooms and the staircase leading straight up just before the door. 

"This house has love in its walls," Castiel said. "It's a very good house." 

Definitely odd. Castiel looked back, and Dean realized that they were just standing there in the foyer. "It was my grandmother's," Dean said. "A lot of this stuff was here when I was a kid." 

"It's settled into itself," Castiel said. "I like your house." 

Which could have sounded presumptuous, if Castiel wasn’t so humble. "Come with me, I'll show you around." 

Castiel didn't touch anything, but he made observations. He recognized little details on decorations, the original floors, the plasterwork walls, never folding forth but Castiel was definitely someone who knew a thing or two about craft and artisan building. But when he saw the piano, he shut right up. 

Dean thought, _well. this is it,_ and his phone rang. 

"Excuse me," Dean said. "One minute?" 

Castiel nodded, and Dean said hello to a dead phone, kept on talking as if there was somebody there, and put himself in the sitting room he never really used. He watched his clock spin one minute, and walked back. 

Castiel had barely moved. He shuffled a bit, to get a look at the bend side and the graceful curved legs. But he stood out of arm's reach, hands behind his back. That was a good sign. 

"My grandmother's last piano." 

"It's so beautiful," Castiel said. 

"It's from the 20's, but it’s fully restored. I keep it maintained, but I'm not much of a player." 

"I learned on an upright," Castiel said. "I bought a portable, and it sounds...eerily right, but something like this," he sighed. "Mr. Winchester, if you consent to have me live here, would you allow me to play it sometimes?" 

"Dean." 

"Dean," Castiel said. “Please call me Castiel.” 

"Castiel, you can play it right now." 

"Thank you," Castiel said, and carefully pulled out the bench. "This is mahogany," Castiel said. "Real mahogany." And then he didn't say anything else. he sat up in the bench, set his fingers down, and played. 

Dean knew it - Sonata 19 in G minor, Beethoven. Grandma had said that it was deceptively simple, especially the beginning, but a developed musician played it differently, and Cas did. He played the andante with a gliding delay in places, his grace notes light as air. He brought a sweetness and yearning to the andante that made Dean remember that great musicians reached past your ears and into you, and pulled out pieces of yourself. 

Dean remembered his grandmother. He remembered sitting quietly and listening to her. And he remembered how they traded songs - she would play one, and he would play another. Everyone would take a turn. 

So he said what he always said to Grandma when she was done. "Thank you, Castiel." 

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel rested his hands on his thighs, turned to look at him. "This piano has love in it too." 

Grandmother's piano was a test. Castiel had passed it with flying colours. The weird clothes didn't matter. He fit. He didn't touch it, let alone play it,until given permission. But it wasn't just that. It was what he chose, and how he played, and Dean wanted very badly to convince him to revive the tradition of playing for each other. Dean wanted to play for him. He wanted to know what pieces of Castiel he could bring out. 

But first things first. 

"The room's empty, you can move in any time. I can give you a form for the bursar and you cane have your residence stipend sent to me." 

"Thank you, Dean. And, may I play this beautiful piano sometimes?" 

"Piano hours are 6:00 am to 10:00 pm," Dean said. "You never have to book a practice room again." 

When Cas smiled in response, it pulled another piece from Dean. It made him remember that Sammy'd gone to Julliard. It made him remember to be careful.


	2. Performance

Castiel took an hour to pack everything out of his dorm room. Other students just moving in stared at him, walking through campus with an electric piano case in one hand, a duffel on his back, a bag of books weighing down his arm. It took about twenty five minutes to walk along mercifully tree-lined roads to the tidy, spruce green, olive, and white Craftsman that would be his home. He was hot and sweaty, but the pretty house and its wide front porch were finally before him.

He made the last few steps with shaking legs, and pressed the doorbell.

Dean answered, and opened the door wide. “Whoa, you should have told me.”

“But you’re canning.”

“Not yet I’m not. I’m roasting the tomatoes in a slow oven.” Dean shrugs. “I have a car. They would have kept.”

Castiel didn’t want to be any trouble. “This is everything.”

“Did you hump that load all the way from Singer Hall?”

“I did,” Castiel said. “And I need to get it up the stairs.”

“Not all at once,” Dean said. “Come on, lay your burden down, or something.”

Castiel chuckled. He set down the piano case, the bookbag, and shrugged out of his duffel.

“It wasn’t too heavy,” Castiel said. “Just awkward.”  _Falsehoods born of pride._ “No, I’m lying. It weighed a ton and I just want to lie down.” He picked up the duffel, stepped inside, and took his boots off.

“I’ll bring your books,” Dean said. “Oof.”

“They’re kinda heavy,” Castiel called.

“Right,” Dean agreed, but Castiel barely heard it.

The room that was his suited him. It was an odd L-shape, the space left over once a bathroom had been installed, and it was lit by a pair of windows set in the sloping roof. The walls were plain white, and there was a cupboard door in the low wall Cas knew had to be a crawl space.

“It’s kind of an odd space,” Dean said. “When we were kids it was our playroom.”

“Did you live with your grandmother?” Castiel asked.

“Most of the time, yeah,” Dean agreed. “She enrolled us in music class, we both played violin, but Sammy really took to it and I switched to cello.”

“I figured you had to be a cellist. I saw the case. So you were a trio.”

“We were a trio. Right until Grandma died.”

“I shouldn’t ask, but…” Castiel busied himself with making the bed. It didn’t look like the beds at home. The ticking was cotton, but it wasn’t striped.

“My mother died in a house fire,” Dean said. “Sammy was six months old. Our dad…he had problems.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Once the other students find out you’re living here you’ll hear it.”

“Gossip is the devil’s mailman. I wouldn’t listen. To them, I mean. I will listen to you, though.” Castiel took his sheets - soft, many times washed white, and fit them over the bed. The top squished in, pliant and a little spooky, but it rested on firm springs.

“All right. You know your scholarship?”

“Yes.”

“Deanna Campbell was my grandmother.”

Castiel stood up and stared. “That was Deanna Campbell’s piano?” He’d touched it. And he hadn’t known.

“Yes.”

“Dean. I’m so honored.”

Dean gave him a smile that deflected Castiel’s awe. “You deserved it. You’re good. Grandma would be glad to know that you’re playing her piano.”

“I’m glad too. But you said there was a tragedy.”

“Yes. My mom was talented, but my dad, well he was talented too, but he had a problem with drinking. Grandma blamed him for the fire. She cut a tour short, and took us home. They fought over custody for us until the day Dad died.”

“Didn’t you perform with your father?”

“Yes. When he had us, he would take us on tour. And Grandma hated it. She didn’t think it was right. Sammy… Sammy’s really good. One in a generation good. And he loves performing. Never quits, really.”

Castiel thought he understood. “You don’t.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the music. I play in the studio, I’ve played in big groups, but I can’t hack performing when I’m not just another face in the crowd.”

Castiel reached into his duffel for the rest of his bedding, sneaking his fingers in the folds to find the lavender sachets. “I can find something to do while you practice.”

“No, that’s okay—wow. Wow.”

“What?”

“That quilt. That’s handmade?”

“It is.” Castiel spread the quilt over the fresh rosemary scented sheets, and admired the perfect eight point stars in yellows and greens on a white background. “My mother made it.”

“No wonder you like the house. You grew up around folk art too.”

“I did,” Castiel said. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Dean about Heaven yet. He would. Just not now. “But you were saying, about performance?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I freeze up. Too many eyes on me. I’m okay in a big group. But I can’t just get on stage the way I did when I was a kid.”

“But you could play for your family. Friends? Other students?”

“Sure.”

“Dean, I can finish this unpacking later. My bed is made. The rest will keep. Would you play your cello for me? I’d like to hear you.”

“Sure,” Dean said, and then looked a bit surprised. “I can do that.”

*

Castiel knew Dean was nervous about it, so he did grab one more thing before following the blond man downstairs. He took a cloth sack with him, looped the handles on his wrist, and produced a tube of knitting with thin metal needles pushed through the links.

“You knit?” Dean asked, eyebrows high.

“All the men in my family knit. I can spin, too, but I didn’t want to bring a wheel, and well honestly I’d rather knit.” He was explaining too much.

“What’s that you’re making?”

“A sock.”

“You know you can buy those at wal-mart.”

“They feel uncomfortable. Too thin, too tight. I don’t like them. And socks are easy to make. It’s just a tube with a bend in the middle.” Be quiet, Castiel.

“Okay. I cook,” Dean said.

“I know.”

“No, I mean, I slow roast vegetables and put up jam and bake. That’s not a guy thing to do, like knitting, you know, that subverting the gender performance thing.”

“But men hunger, and men’s feet get cold. Why not know how to make your comforts?” Castiel knew that men in the world had ideas about what was manly. So it was in Heaven, but the making of things to sustain life and comfort was human work. Hester was the one who trained with her mother, the smith. Castiel watched a flock of children as readily as he guarded the lambs. Raphael, the son of Joshua, knit better than he did.

The world was strange. Castiel put his knitting away and busied himself with filling the sink to wash dishes. Dean replaced one dish of roasted tomatoes with another, and scraped up the blackened bits on the bottom, and then came to dry pots and put them away.

They worked together in silence and had everything tidy in a few minutes.

“Dean. It can wait.”

“No,” Dean said. “Let’s go.”

*

Dean tuned by ear using the piano as his guide, since Castiel was there to play it for him. He tuned open, and grinned when Castiel nodded the moment his tone struck true. He plucked on the strings, tapped them into harmonics, and maybe fussed a little more than he would when he was alone.

But finally even he had to admit that he was done. He took his bow out of the case, tightened the hairs, and sat with the instrument between his knees, left hand on the neck. He took a breath and began.

Castiel knew [Cello Suite No. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGQLXRTl3Z0). He’d heard it. But he’d never watched it. The music shimmered, full of arpeggios and scales. Dean moved the bow with delicacy and precision, a fascinating play of direction, angle, and pressure. It sang in his ears the way Bach did, but Dean played it with the peace of a perfect sunrise. Castiel just sat still, fingers still tangled in the loops he used to tension his yarn, and did nothing but listen.

If Dean could play before an audience the way he did here in this room - on a padded stool that rested on a handwoven carpet to protect the wax-buffed floor from the endpin — if he could play like this without fear, the audience would be lucky to hear him. The prelude soared into the allemande. Cas left his knitting in his lap, and listened until he bowed the last note.

He remembered what Dean had said. “Thank you, Dean.” It felt like a ritual he didn’t know, but he felt grateful to have heard it. And it seemed like the right thing to say.

Dean looked up, startled. “Thank you, Castiel.”

*

After he played the cello for Castiel the first time, Dean told Castiel that he needed to cook.

“I can help,” Castiel said. “I can chop things you tell me to chop. Or I can actually cook.”

Dean smiled, but let Castiel prove that he could chop onions and mushrooms, and set him to work as dean’s sous chef. Dean stood over the stove and created a sauce from the cooled batch of roasted tomatoes, adding vegetables as they were chopped, sauteed, or blanched. They only spoke of the business of the kitchen, mostly Dean telling Castiel where to find this or that, until Castiel said, “You play very well. At home they would say you were blessed.”

Dean turned around and leaned on the counter, watching Castiel. “Did they say you were blessed?”

“They did,” Castiel agrees, and Dean’s face fell. “What’s wrong?”

Dean sighed, and washed a sweet pepper. “Listen, Cas. I didn’t say anything about this, and I get it if it’s a dealbreaker but I will not be in the closet in my own house.”

Castiel blinked. “I don’t understand, Dean.”

Dean offered the pepper to Castiel. “I have sex with men.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, and took it. “I understand that. Is that what you meant about the closet?”

“Yes. You’re cool with that?”

“Certainly,” Castiel said. “I don’t see how it presents a problem.”

“All right.” Dean went back to the stove and tossed a handful of sliced carrots into boiling water. “So did you leave a girlfriend behind?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I am a virgin, Dean.”

“Come on, you’re what. Nineteen?”

“I’ve never had occasion.”

“So what, wait until marriage?”

“I suppose so, if he, or she, or they wanted to wait.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“I don’t think that marriage is important. But respect is.”

Dean caught himself looking upwards with agnostic gratitude, then turned around and smiled at Castiel. “You’re pretty neat, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean. You are also…neat.”


	3. Placement

Castiel stood outside of the little hall where four teachers were waiting to evaluate his skill and place him in classes. The written music theory tests turned out to be not so bad. He knew he didn’t have every answer correct. There were eight he wasn’t certain he did correctly. But right now he had to ask God for serenity because he didn’t have any.

There were other students there, other students doing their various kinds of waiting, reading, playing with their computer phones, listening to music. He sat in a chair on one side of the room, and the rest of them on the other. He tired to do some reading, but he couldn’t follow the words on the page, so he finally took out the bag, looped it on his wrist, and started knitting. The rhythm was simple; 3 knit, 1 purl. All of his socks were knit exactly the same. He’d finished the heel on this one, and still had six rounds before he’d take up all the extra stitches for the gusset. 

He got about halfway through his third needle when he realized that the other students were staring at him, staring and glancing at each other with little smiles. He knew he looked different. He still wore the shirts and trousers his family made from bolted cloth on treadle Singer machines. And apparently, out in the world, men did not knit where other people could see them. He stared at the needles and thought again,  _I hope it’s Beethoven. Please let it be Beethoven._

“Castiel Bauer,” a woman’s voice said.

Castiel stood up. “Ma’am.”

“You’re up, Mr. Bauer.”

“Thank you,” he said, and took the yarn off his fingers.

  
Castiel Bauer had to stop wishing for things, because God granted those wishes. He stared [at the music in front of him](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fe91lSrYXtg), and tried not to panic. It was Beethoven, and he was certain he knew it, so he said, “I believe that I have heard this music before. Do I have to ask for a different piece?”

A moment of silence, before a woman with red hair said, “It’s fine, Mr. Bauer, thank you for being so conscientious. Please begin.”

And he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

 _God, help me_ , he thought.  _Work through me and make this beautiful._

And because he couldn’t stall any more, he brought his hands down and played the initial exclamations. They rang twice, rested, and he let the violin lines float on his right hand, the cello and viola on his left, and felt his way through.   
The piece was full of held breaths and punctuations, gliding and then pulsing with excitement. It felt like two voices, one wishful and the other pointed, each singing off in their own directions and circling together to argue their points. He read the music, his hands moved, and he didn’t feel quite in control of any of it. He’d come to the end of what had been printed, and put his hands in his lap. _Thank you, God,_  he thought.  _I needed you for that._

He got up and bowed. He couldn’t see them, but he said, “Thank you.”

He left the hall behind him utterly silent.

  
He got most of the way home before the shakes got him. Everything depended on that sight reading. What if he’d done wrong? What if they called on the telephone and said,  _“Mr. Bauer, there’s been a terrible mistake, we’re withdrawing the scholarship?”_

He made it inside and Dean was right there, reading something at the dining room table.

“Dean, I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Castiel said, and Dean caught him by the shoulder.

“Whoa there, tiger. You can tell me all about it, but first, steady your nerves a bit.”

Dean handed him a wineglass. He knew that the pale straw colored liquid had to be wine. But it was wine, not spirits, and so he drank it.

Three swallows later, Dean took the glass away from him. Castiel’s belly was warm, but the wine had been very, very cold. 

“Okay, maybe I didn’t pick out the best vintage but it’s not a guzzler. Tell me about your terrible mistake.”

“My quartet got into an argument and didn’t listen to each other,” Castiel said. “I played an argument, I think I did it wrong.”

“And they’re going to kick you out of school?”

Castiel nodded, and swept one hand over his face. 

Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “Okay. Good news. They’re not going to kick you out because you bombed your audition, Cas, so relax.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Dean said. “You’re the Campbell scholar. They’re stuck with you for the whole year.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. “But what if—”

“Second, everyone thinks they bombed the audition. Everyone does. Even Sammy worries about it. Me? I’d lose my head if it wasn’t bolted on,” Dean said. “You still with me?”

“Everyone thinks they bombed,” Castiel said. His breathing slowed down a bit. Dean’s hand on him helped. He concentrated on it, let it hold him on the earth, let it keep him steady. “Got it.”

“Okay, and the most important of all, Cas, so listen.” Dean put his other hand on Cas’s shoulder.  
Castiel returned the gesture, and rested his hands on Dean’s shoulders. Dean looked so serious. His eyes were golden stars on a field of green, and they looked right into his.

“When my grandmother willed the money for the Campbell scholarship, she wanted someone just like you. The way you play, it’s like her, but not. You’re your  _own_ , Cas. So you didn’t bomb. You did great.”

“Are you sure?”

“Cas—” Dean sighed, and shook him just a little. “I don’t know how to get you to believe me. What did you play? Sing it.”  
Castiel hummed the first exclamations, rested, and hummed the first triplet and scale.

“Quartet Number 8, Rasumovsky. That’s some fiery stuff. I don’t think playing it as an argument was a mistake.”

“How do I know if I bombed?”

“You won’t have a single class with Dr. Harvelle. She’s the department head. She only wants the best.”


	4. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, drat these computers. They're so naughty and so complex.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I lost the pointer again.”

“Cursor, not pointer.”

“I’ve lost it.” His stomach churned. He was going to fail school entirely because of this thing. Castiel pressed the window button and looked at the squares, but the cursor wasn’t there either.

“Ok. Run the mouse the other way, slowly.”

Castiel handled his student laptop as if it would bite him. Dean couldn’t get three feet away when he had it turned on, because disaster would strike any second. He knew it. The screen would go blank, the work would be lost, something.

He found the cursor and went back to the solitaire. Dean said it was the best way to learn how to use the mouse.

He didn’t want to tell Dean that he’d never played solitaire.

A status window popped in the lower right hand corner. he chased it with the mouse but it faded from sight before he could click it.

 _Oh, no._  “Dean, I just lost an email with my classes.”

“What? How?”

“The window was too fast.” His chest hurt. it hurt to breathe. He was going to fail.

“All right, let me see.” Dean was by his side, wiping his hands dry with the front of his apron. “Okay. Press the window key, let’s go back to Metro. There’s the envelope with the red m. Click it.”

Castiel took a few tries to get the cursor in place, but a new page opened to show him his gmail inbox.

“I didn’t lose it.” This thing was going to make him fail. everything depended on him having e-mail and google.

“That window you saw was just the notifier, Cas.” Dean returns to where he chopped wilted carrots and celery, dropping them into a stock pot with roasted beef bones. “Well, how many classes did you get with Dr. Harvelle?”

“Private Piano.”

Dean beamed. “Okay see, right there. You did not bomb your sight reading. What else.”

“I’m in her flight for Ensemble, and I also have her for Piano Topics.”

“Two classes and ensemble. That’s good, Cas. You did great. Did you get Theory or Diatonics?

“Diatonics, Ear Training, and something called Ethics: Conscience and the Good Life.”

“Well, that course sounds easy.”

 

“So the first thing we’re going to discuss today is ethics vs. Morals. Can anyone tell me the difference between ethics and morals?”

Professor Zachariah looked like he didn’t get enough sleep, enough exercise, enough wholesome foods, or enough sunshine. His deep-set, shadowed eyes looked at every student in turn, until they fell on him - seated just behind the middle of the room, a bit to the right.

“Mr. Bauer. Care to take a stab?”

“Morals are a personal set of beliefs about what is right and what is wrong, that can be informed from a variety of philosophical sources, and Ethics are a standard of conduct originating from an institution,” Castiel said.

“Surprisingly correct, Mr. Bauer. Ten points to Hufflepuff.”

The class tittered. Castiel didn’t understand, but he understood enough. He kept his face pleasant, the way he learned to keep his face at the farmer’s market.

“So that leads me to this puzzling question, Mr. Bauer. Is abortion moral or ethical?”

He knew a trap when he saw one, but this one seemed clumsy. “I don’t think I have any business answering that question.”

“Because your conscience objects to abortion?”

“Because I don’t have a uterus,” Castiel said.

That made a few heads turn around.

“Interesting and unexpected, Mr. Bauer. Are you from a progressive sect of Mennonites?” The class tittered again.

“The Children of God are not Mennonites,” Castiel said. “We’re not even terribly Christian.”

“But you believe that a woman and only a woman has the right to decide whether to keep a pregnancy.”

“Only a person who can carry a child,” Castiel said.

“And how did you come to this belief?”

“I thought about it for a while.” Castiel said, puzzled.

Professor Zachariah stared at him for a few seconds, but he went on to ask an angry looking woman student if she agreed with him.

She did not.

He didn’t call on Castiel again, but Professor Zachariah kept him in the spotlight for the entire class, by asking every student in the room their opinion of his opinion.

The computer was his enemy.

Castiel waited outside the music room Professor Harvelle kept for her own lessons, and tried to write his Ethics paper assignment: Good Without God, or Fundamentally Lost? A personal reflection on atheism’s ethics and morality.

He still shook. He didn’t understand why Professor Zachariah had singled him out, why he’d turned the whole class into an opportunity to humiliate him. What had he done wrong? He’d been asked a question, a rude question. One the Children of God would never dream of asking, but the Children of God wouldn’t believe that he thought something so ridiculous as the idea that someone who could bear children not having any choice about bearing them.

He didn’t understand. And the computer on his lap was hot, hot enough to make his legs uncomfortable—

“Castiel,” Professor Harvelle said.

Castiel looked up, startled.

“Are you okay?”

“No, Professor Harvelle,” he said. “But I am—

He couldn’t talk. His throat hurt.

“Come on in here,” Professor Harvelle said.

He snapped the laptop shut as his piano teacher opened the door to her practice room.

Castiel scuttled inside, and sighed as the door clicked shut. Professor Harvelle pointed at the piano bench. “Sit.”

Castiel sat, his backpack and computer clutched to his chest.

“Kid, you look like someone pulled you through a knothole backwards. If I had any bourbon I’d pour you a shot.”

“The Children of God don’t drink spirits.”

“Of course not. Look. You’re having a terrible day. And I don’t think that computer is your best friend right now.”

“The computer is very valuable,” Castiel said. That’s what he told himself, when he wanted to borrow Hester’s hammer and bludgeon it to bits.

“Have you even used one before?”

“No.”

“All right. Sit there. Warm up, if you want to. Play something smashy and get it out. I’ll be right back.”

Castiel stared at the door. Play something smashy? Something that felt the way he felt right now?

[He knew what that was.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9Yxea6-CNU)

He pressed a single key, regular as a pulse, and trilled the keys around it, tickling his way up to the treble scale before getting smashy - discordant and minor, a waltz full of Victorian Gothic menace - the danse macabre. Cas had found it on a record when he was a child. No sheet music. Years later it had become his first reduction to piano, when he had no idea what a reduction was. But its off kilter, atonal moments were smashy enough for anyone.

He played, and it suited him perfectly to let the waltz wind around in frustration, to thunder his way through the chords and get it out.

How could a teacher treat him like that? It was so—

He crashed his way up the keyboard in a great roar, let the notes ring.

And the other students had laughed. They all stared, they whispered behind his back.

The danse played on, and Cas struck the treble chords, slid to the bass, and danced his way back up.

He was the outsider. The strange one who didn’t take a computer as a granted extension of himself. He didn’t display his body in tight undershirts and trousers, leave his collar open at the throat.

The notes swirled with his disorientation. He was the outsider. The world was strange and enchanting, but sometimes it hurt.

The music grew frantic, whirling, dizzy with minor scales and flurried arpeggios to the cascading sweep of notes up the board, then nothing but the resonance, shimmering in the air.

_The outside appearance does not change the inner light._

Revelation.

_Thank you, God._

He played through the interlude that made him think of falling leaves, just before the last flurry of notes, the final surge before the ending’s unspoken final note.

He looked up, and saw Professor Harvelle waiting beside one of the students from his ensemble. He recognized him. Cello.

“Castiel Bauer, this is Kevin Tran,” Ellen said. “He’s volunteered to teach you how to use a computer. I have also put in the recommendation that you have IEP considerations for assignments done on the computer, so you’ll have some time to learn how to use one.”

“You could probably try some voice to text programs,” Kevin said. “And, can I say something?”

“Please.”

Kevin wore a smile like the sun breaking through stormclouds. “That was amazing.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

“After that performance I don’t feel half so bad about dragging you kicking and screaming into the 20th century.” Ellen Harvelle said. “Can you meet with Kevin after our class?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I’m grateful for all your help.”

“I should hope so,” Professor Harvelle said. “Next time you run into trouble, you better have me on speed-dial, kid. Now let’s talk Saint-Saëns.”


	5. Expectations

"I do not like coffee, Dean."

"How do you live?" Dean shouted. The burr grinder was quite loud but the scent was…oh. "Oh man."

"It is a deception, Dean. The smell is often quite appealing but I do not like the bitterness.”

"Cas, I am about to ruin you for coffee forever. Shut up and smell this. Really slowly, okay? And just talk about what it reminds you of." Dean held the basket of ground beans under his nose.

Castiel inhaled obediently. It took a second for the frown to melt into surprise.

"It smells like flowers," Castiel says. "Flowers, and a fruit I can’t quite name. Honey, like autumn honey, not spring. And coffee, only with chocolate. Dean. Did you make this smell like flowers?"

"That’s just the beans," Dean said. "Hold that."

Cas smelled the ground beans again. Dean attended a long spouted kettle on the stove, and opened the black box Castiel had wondered about. that box held a curvaceous glass pitcher, with a wide mouth, a narrow neck wrapped in a wood collar, flaring out to a bottom that flared out like an Erlenmeyer flask, only rounder. Dean held it up and inspected it, for dirt or flaws or…

There was something wine-like about the coffee beans. He felt like the time Dean had him drink wine, a little floaty and euphoric after drinking two glasses. Did he smell wine? He watched Dean fit a brown paper cone into the top part of the pitcher and gently wet it with water from the kettle.

"Quit huffing the coffee, Cas," Dean said, and stuck his hand out.

Cas handed the little basket of coffee grounds over. “It smells better than it tastes,” He complained.

"Not this time it won’t." A thin trickle of water was all Dean allowed to cover the mound of beans in the paper filter, not even enough to drip through to the bottom, but Dean put the kettle back on the element and went looking for a pair of cups.

"Dean. You haven’t added enough water."

"Method to my madness, Cas. When I found that in the attic I danced a jig. It might be original."

"An original what?"

"Manual coffee brewer, called a Carmex. Just sit there and give me five minutes. I’m making art."

Castiel sat down, and waited quietly. Well, waited quietly for about fifteen seconds.

"Dean. There are machines that make coffee. You have one, right over there. This method seems like—"

 _Like home_ , he didn’t want to say. Like the butter churns and the spinning wheel and all the old-fashioned simplicity he longed to escape, to chase the music that haunted him half his life, the music that finally led him away from the homestead, away from his family, and to Dean and his tiny ad:

_1 bedroom to let. Meals provided. 50mb wifi, quiet odd music student preferred._

Well, Castiel had thought. That was him.

And Dean agreed, because the room was his.

Dean returned and poured water into the paper cone. the kettle made a slow stream of water, and Dean guided the pour in a circular motion. This was far away from the high pitched steam blast from the cafe where most of the students got their paper cups of a drink Castiel didn’t understand.

But Dean wanted Castiel to understand, so he listened to the blond cellist’s answer. “The manual brewing method creates a clean cup. The glass construction doesn’t absorb coffee into it the way the plastic parts of a coffee maker do. I wet the paper to eliminate taste transfer. I wet the beans to let them settle and release the first flavors. The fit of the filter inside the cone and the slow pouring method keeps the grounds as undisturbed as possible. This all makes the coffee taste the way it smells.”

Castiel got off his elbows. “And that coffee is good.”

"It’s very good, Cas. I only drink this stuff on the weekends." He put the kettle aside and went into the fridge, bringing out a square carton of cream with a familiar logo.

Cas stared.

"Heaven Farms, only the best for Saturday coffee," Dean said. "Reach over to your left there, grab the little sugar bowl?"

"You’re not going to insist I drink it black?"

"I’m going to insist you try the first sip black and then judge what it needs. Put six sugars in it if you want, it’s your cup. Me, I like it with a little sugar and pale with cream."

"I drew that logo," Castiel said.

"Really? You’re from Heaven Farms?"

"I was born there," Castiel said.

"Well I buy eggs, milk, cheese, and honey from Heaven Farms. It must be why you’re up with the larks, huh?"

"The days were long. But I wanted the music more than salvation."

"So the uh, bible verses aren’t just clever."

"No," Castiel said.

"Uh, Cas, I got a lot of questions and I figure the answers aren’t my business but. Do I need to screen your calls?"

"On the telephone? I don’t think so. The council agreed to let me go into the world, so the turmoil in my heart could be settled. They are sure I will return to them."

"Coffee’s ready," Dean said.

The grounds and paper went into the compost bucket. Dean poured coffee into two handmade mugs, and Castiel knew the shape of them, the curve of the handle and the plain white glaze.

"You bought these from the fair."

"Yeah. Do you know who made them?"

"Inias."

"Oh. Do you uh, want a different cup?"

"No," Castiel said. "I love my brother Inias." He picked up the cup in his hands, and bent his nose over the vessel, and breathed.

All the promise of the ground beans, and a dark fullness besides, the not-sweet, not earth smell that made the scent of coffee, the opening notes of [Passacaglia and Fugue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F51uHpH3yQk), the throbbing impossible sound of Dean’s cello, paired with the spiraling scales of hazel blossoms, cacao beans, and… currant. that was it.

But now the promise would be broken. Castiel sipped.

It was still those things, and sweeter feeling on the tip of his tongue, but it wasn’t the oily, bitter birch tarry feel he dreaded.

It was its own thing, and Castiel dropped his expectations and sipped again.

Coffee didn’t promise sweetness. It promised complexity and reward for the person who could let expectations go and let it be what it was, acid and fruity and flower-nectared, but the darkness and warmth just below the unsweetened cocoa was the body, and it was coffee, holding up the chorded flavors and melody of the not-sweet bouquet.

He set the cup down. Dean watched him, probably had watched him the whole time he tasted. His own cup was still black and steaming.

Dean hadn’t shaved. The hairs of his beard were sometimes red, and freckles dusted his nose, his cheeks. His blond hair stood up and leaned at any angle it wanted to. His eyes were green, green with light amber brown in the center, as light as his brother’s, only Castiel never looked at his brother and thought, he’s the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

He was staring. He should not.

Castiel looked back at his coffee, not knowing what to do.

"What do you think?"

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said and looked back at Dean. "I have learned that I like coffee very much."


	6. Hand Me Downs

Halfway through Castiel’s second cup of Saturday coffee Dean said, “I have some clothes for you.”

“Dean,” Castiel looked up from staring into his coffee how he liked it - no milk, just enough sugar - and raised his eyebrows. “I only told you yesterday.”

“Yeah well, I went through my closets. I have a lot of clothes, Cas, and Sammy left plenty though none of his pants will fit you, kid’s huge.”

“Thank you, Dean. I know my clothing looks strange.”

“You look like you just got off the farm. Which you did. The belt instead of the suspenders helps, but you’re just a bit homespun. Come on, I’ve got it all piled up in the powder room down here, you can give me a fashion show.”

 

Castiel was taking an awful long time to come out of the powder room and show Dean how anything fit.

He clapped his hands twice, and called, “Come on, Cas, let’s see it. Fashion show means show the fashion.”

"They don’t fit, Dean."

“Okay. Are they falling off you?”

“No.”

“All right. Can you do a squat in them?”

After a moment, Castiel said, “Yes.”

“Then they probably fit fine. Get out here, do your little turn on the catwalk.”

“You’re not funny, Dean,” Castiel said, and the door swung open.

“Come on, I’m hilari—”

Dean swallowed.

Castiel stepped out from behind the door. He kept his usual buttoned shirt on, and it hung over the waistband down to his hips. He swam in it.

But below that hem, he’d chosen the bleach-washed, barely blue at all, formerly Dean’s favorite jeans. They were narrowly cut, and they fit Cas’ thighs like a glove. Those quadriceps bulged and curved above Castiel’s knees and if there was such a thing as very pale blue marble, that’s what Cas’ legs looked like right now and—

Dean shifted in his seat. “Tight on the thighs?”

“They’re _indecent_ ,” Castiel complained. “The fabric stretches. They feel strange.”

“All right, all right, I’m convinced,” Dean said. “Try the black ones, thunder thighs.”

“My leg musculature is perfectly normal,” Castiel said, and slipped behind the powder room door again.

“And try on a shirt!” Dean called.

“These are not shirts!” Castiel hollered through the door. “They’re undergarments!”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean yelled. “Join the 21st century, what do you say?”

The door opened again. “Dean, I am aware that my clothing makes me stand out from the other students, and I am grateful that you have these to lend, but—”

He’d put on the steel gray V-neck shirt, the one with long sleeves. It molded to his shoulders, across his chest, and the fabric fell from deep pectorals in silky drapes to his black leather belt, holding up black straight-leg jeans. The thigh bulges still figured, but it was a suggestion rather than the full detail of the strength of Castiel’s body.

He was staring. He knew he was staring. He looked up, to an anxious Castiel who looked back. He smoothed down the black denim with nervous palms.

“These…fit better than the worn ones,” Castiel said. “But these are virtually new.”

“They are new. I never wore them. Too short in the legs.”

“They seem long enough for me.”

“How do they look in the back.”

“I don’t know, Dean. I can’t see—”

Dean raised one finger and circled it.

“You want me to—” Castiel huffed, and turned around. “Well?”

 _Son of a Bitch._  “I am bringing joy to all mankind.”

“What?”

Those woolen pants hid Castiel’s buttocks too well. “So when you lift heavy things, do you squat and use your knees?”

Cas walked behind the powder room door again. “I’m taking these off.”

“Don’t you dare, Cas. They’re yours. They  _fit_. They are  _fine_.”

“Too much of my body is on display, Dean. This undershirt. It is fine at the waist but it clings too closely to my chest and shoulders.”

“You can wear Sam’s old hoodie overtop, and it’ll help.”

“The fleece jacket with a zipper?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “And give yourself time to get used to it. I know. You need some Carhartts. They’re looser. But keep everything I’ve given you. It all fits. You’re just not used to it,” Dean said.

And he’d try not to ogle Castiel. He was used to a gentler, more innocent environment. He stuck close to Dean, not understanding a lot of the world outside of Heaven Farms, but the peace of Deanna Campbell’s old house and Dean’s patient willingness to teach him new things comforted him.

It wasn’t Castiel’s fault he was amazing.

Castiel came out of the powder room again. He hadn’t taken off the black jeans, and he now wore one of Sam’s old exercise jackets. “Thank you, Dean. You’ve been nothing but generous. I had no idea how different the world would be.”

“It’s all right, Cas. I guess it kinda freaks you out.”

“Most of it is strange and wonderful,” Castiel says. “And I have more music from Professor Harvelle.”

“Do you want to play?”

“I want to listen to you play.”

“We can trade songs.” Dean said, and led the way to the music room.

“Requests,” Castiel says, and snags his cloth sack full of yarn. “I go first.”

“I already know what you want to hear.”

Castiel got that pained look he wore when Dean teased him about music. “Dean, it’s my favorite.”

“I thought ice cream was your favorite.”

“Ice cream is my tongue’s favorite.”

 _Son of a Bitch._  “Context is everything, Cas.”

“What?”

“I—you know what, never mind.”

*

Castiel could knit the simple socks he insisted on without having to look at his stitches. Knitting was another thing on Castiel’s “odd” checklist but when Dean asked him about it he had just said, “Idle hands are the Devil’s playthings,” and Castiel was never idle. He wound the yarn in his fingers and started, tiny metal needles flashing. He watched Dean tighten his bow and inhaled deeply when Dean took out the rosin and touched up the hairs.

“I love that smell,” Castiel said.

“Thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“I never will.”

Dean smiled. “I’m ready for an A.”

Castiel barely even looked at the keyboard. He left the needle stuck halfway through the sock row, played the note, and held it down.

Dean didn’t look for Castiel’s nod when his cello’s pitch matched. He listened for himself, and when he looked up to ask for an D, Castiel had already moved on. His ear was as good as Sammy’s.

Nearly everyone knew the prelude to Bach’s Cello Suite No 1. In G Major. Dean had played it for Castiel and even he knew it, and Castiel barely had any rock records to listen to back on the — commune. That’s what Cas called it.

Cas liked the prelude, but he adored the third movement, the Courante. It was a devil to bow, and Castiel loved it. If Castiel had his way, Dean would play that courante every day. Dean tried to find more songs for Castiel, but he would play this movement for him whenever he asked.

It tumbled over itself, a profusion of tripled notes that slid up and down the neck, bowed with the sharp changes from the A string to the C, then butterfly light as the tune took its giddy way down the scale. It was only two minutes long, but Dean played it. Would have played the whole suite, if Cas had asked him.

Dean took his bow away and waited.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Thank you, Cas.” Dean answered. “My turn for a request.”

“Anything.”

Oh Castiel, don’t say that. Dean settled for what he could ask for. “[Fugue on a Theme by Albioni in A?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pU_tiVS06ao)”

“I like that one,” Castiel said. “We should—”

Dean waited to see if Castiel had stopped to untangle the knitting yarn from his hands, or because he’d had second thoughts. “We should what?”

“We should play something together. A sonata for cello with piano.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

Castiel’s happy smile was worth a thousand courantes.


	7. Da Capo

Professor Harvelle listened to Castiel run through the passage from Saint-Saëns that he felt ambivalent about. “It’s supposed to be a dance,” Castiel said. “I want to keep that feeling through the piece, of people waltzing with reapers, but…”

“You’re trying to figure out what I told you about your original reduction getting muddy by trying to do too much, aren’t you.”

“Yes.”

“I almost wish you hadn’t reduced this piece at fourteen, Castiel. It proves that you have a gift for the drama and expression, and you’re not afraid of the technical delivery, and it’s obvious you love it. But if you were to write it again, and add a second instrument, what would you add?”

“Violin,” Castiel said promptly. “And if I had a third, I’d add cello.”

“All right. And who would you ask for in your trio?”

 _Dean._  “Kevin and Jo.”

“Okay,” Professor Harvelle said. “Email them.”

“Now?”

“Yes. I’m going to make sure that I have Liszt’s arrangement, because I want you to see where you and he went in different directions.”

Castiel got his computer out of his bag and set it on his lap. He was better at email but his typing was still awful. Still, he was able to write Kevin, cc Jo, and write:

“Professor Harvelle wants me to write Danse Macabre as a trio. Will you group with me on Ensemble project? Castiel”

He’d gotten a “you bet” and a “yes. :)” before Professor Harvelle even made it back.

 

“I’m pleased to report that most of you have submitted your essays for full marks,” Professor Zachariah said. “And I’ve had the chance to look some of them over.”

Castiel had managed to get his essay in. It had been an ordeal, writing even 250 words, but he had Dean check it for typing errors that made correctly spelled words and then had him watch over his shoulder to make sure he’d sent it correctly.

“I have a highlight reel,” Professor Zacharaiah said, and Castiel already knew what was coming.

“There is no reason to suppose that a person, having looked at all the evidence they could find, who concluded that there is no God would be lacking in the ability to build a strong personal morality, founded on careful thought and consideration of the evidence. That is an unreasonable prejudice with no rational basis to support it. Of course people can be good without God.”

His answer.

“Remember, I assigned this question to the theists,” Zacharaiah said, and grinned. People turned and looked at Castiel. “I see people have guessed the writer’s identity. Mr. Bauer. Oh, and you’re looking snappy today.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, just as if the compliment had been sincere. He might have looked snappy. He wore the new black jeans Dean gave him, and one of his dress shirts, with a beautiful silver tie. He loved the tie. it was a good reason to keep his throat covered.

“I have a question for you, Mr. Bauer: Are you certain you’re not an atheist?”

“I have a question for you in return, Professor Zacharaiah: Why are you so convinced that I can’t believe in God, because of the other things I believe? Because I don’t believe that the earth is only six thousand years old or that women should be treated like mules who can cook?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“I believe in God, Professor Zachariah. I believe in my personal relationship with God. Thank you for your intended compliment but I am not an atheist.”

 

Castiel didn’t use rough language. But oh, he was angry. Was every single Ethics class going to be like this?

He slipped his backpack onto both shoulders, fastened the waist strap, and got ready to march. He’d rake the leaves when he got home. He’d push the mower and trim the lawn. He wished the fireplaces hadn’t been converted to gas because he was dreaming of splitting half a cord of wood.

Maybe he could run. Dean ran. He didn’t have running clothes but maybe he could borrow some and just run, run until he didn’t want to split wood, run until he collapsed on someone’s pretty yard.

“-astiel,” he half heard.

“What?” he said, and turned around, and he felt so bad for letting his anger loose on Jo. “Sorry. Sorry, I just—”

“Got Professor Zachariah, and he’s being a douche to you. I’m sorry. He’s a douche with tenure. You could drop the class and take it in summer, unless you have to go home?”

“I should. There’s a lot of work in the summer. But I probably will stay in town if Dean will let me.”

“Does he still play?”

“The cello? Yes.”

“I used to play with him, and his brother Sam. You heard about Sam, I bet.”

“Yes. Who was viola?”

“His name is Garth. He went to Rochester.”

“So you were in a quartet?”

“Until Dean graduated. Then we got Kevin. Anyway, speaking of. You want to do the danse macabre. Do you want to enter the piano competition with it?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I’m here to tell you that you should do it. I saw your class recording, Mom was watching it.”

“Who—is Professor Harvelle your mother? I should have known that.”

“She is. Are you going to put your name in? Because you have to do it right now.”

Jo meant the deadline. It was today.

Castiel decides all at once. First years don’t enter the soloist competition. But here was Jo telling him to do it.

“I’d better hurry.”

“Good for you. Do you want help typing up the application? You don’t have time to hunt and peck.”

“Thank you, Jo,” Castiel said. “That’s a huge help.”

 

“Change that to _“Reduction for piano by Castiel Bauer,”_ Kevin said, on Jo’s other side. “Don’t let them assume you’re just doing Lizst/Horowitz.”

Jo made the changes. “You know they do the competition as free concerts at noon at the Edlund Concert Hall, right?”

“I’d read that.”

“You don’t have a performing thing, do you?” Kevin asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Castiel said.

“Because I know that’s why Dean quit,” Kevin bounced his left knee, and he pushed it down to make it stop.

“He didn’t quit. He still plays. He even takes instruction.”

“You just have to focus,” Kevin said. "The lights are so bright you can’t see anyone anyway.”

“Everything falls away until there’s nothing but the music and the light,” Castiel says. “Trust me, if i have a performing thing, all I have to do is get to the bench.”

“And wear formal clothes,” Jo said. “Speaking of. You look good, Castiel.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “It still feels strange.”

“You’ll get used to it. Okay. What’s your performer’s statement? We’ve got 22 minutes to get this sent.”

  
  



	8. Sonata 1: Duet

Dean hadn’t heard that song in a long time, but he was on his feet and away from reading another of Sammy’s emails before he even knew if he wanted Cas to stop or just listen.

[He couldn’t have known about that song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT7_IZPHHb0). He might have known what today was, but he couldn’t know about the song.

Dean tried to come into the music room quietly. He’d kept his grip on the old brass doorknob he’d come to regard as lucky, but it chunked when he let it go.

Castiel stopped playing and turned on the bench to face him, and then frowned. “Dean. What’s wrong?”

 

“Am I really that easy to read?”

“Would that be insulting?”

Dean huffed. “That meant yes. Just…I heard what you were playing in here.”

“I … should not play that Sonata?”

“No, I just. Grandma and I used to play it,” dean said. “We’d sit on the bench and play it together. I’d play the left hand, she’d play the right.”

“I did something similar as a kid.”

“It’s her birthday today. Or it would have been. It just got me thinking about her.”

“That’s not bad. Remembering her keeps her light strong,” Castiel said, and then slid to the right side of the bench. “Let’s do it.”

“What, play it?”

“Sure, why not? Be my left hand.”

Dean sat down. It was a tight fit for two grown men, but Castiel wound his arm around behind Dean, who swerved a bit.

“Oh. That not okay?”

“No, I..that’s fine. Maybe I better…” Dean put his right arm behind Castiel, and then it just seemed… natural to set his hand on Castiel’s waist. He didn’t mind getting close, touching, their thighs flush against each other.

“Still okay?” Castiel asked.

“I’m good,” Dean said. “Eyes on the keyboard, let’s go.”

Dean tapped out a four-count, and they began perfectly.

Dean could never forget the Moonlight Sonata. He’d played it so many times, with Grandma and with Sammy. He could never forget the notes.

Neither could Castiel. He played the gentle, simple arpeggios with floating fingers, dreamy and featherlight. His breathing slowed, deepened, and dean found that he was breathing in time with Castiel, matching the movement’s languor.

He’d expected that memories would flow from this melody but it was all Castiel: Breathing right next to him, warm at his side, one arm around his waist and he felt Castiel’s left hand, comfortable on his hip. He fit, just under his shoulder and Dean felt a thrill when Castiel laid his head back so his hair brushed along Dean’s arm.

And then it was over, the last notes fading from the air, and Castiel squeezed Dean’s hip and smiled at him.

“That was pretty good,” he said.

Dean fell into Cas’ eyes like he was falling into the pull of a star.

Their lips met for an instant before Dean thought “ _What the fuck am I doing?_ ” and leapt off the bench.

“Sorry,” he said. “Fuck. Cas, I’m sorry.”

“Dean.” Castiel said. “Don’t apologize.”

“I kissed you.”

“Barely. You were in a beautiful moment, and it deserved a beautiful gesture,” Castiel said. “Please don’t be angry with yourself, when I’m not angry with you.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not,” Castiel said.

“Still, I think I’d better go. Good night, Castiel.”

Castiel frowned, but let it go with a nod. “Good night, Dean.”


	9. Sonata 1: Ostinado

There was no use in trying to deny it. Castiel couldn’t sleep.

He flopped the pillow over again and huffed, then gave up and sat at his electric piano, put his headphones on, and started playing.

Castiel worried that he’d done something wrong. The same thoughts just rolled around and around in his head, stubbornly refusing to leave, and they all revolved around Dean Winchester. He had to admit that.

He’d said that no love could ever be an affront to God. He believed that. But the thoughts he had of Dean shamed him. They were carnal, and no fit response to the beauty Dean had offered, and snatched away in fear.

His fingers moved over the keyboard, half realizing that he was playing it again, remembering Dean close to him, how they breathed together as one, together in the music. How easy it felt to be wound around him, the smell of the cologne he wore, of basil and amber, cedar and orange blossom. The memory rose in Castiel until he had to take off his headphones and fall back on his bed.

What if Dean hadn’t pulled away?

Castiel had been surprised, but he had let the movement flow. What would it have been like? They had only touched lips for a moment. Just the barest touch…

Castiel traced his lower lip with one finger,  _pianissimo, lento assai_. He remembered the fleeting touch and smothered a groan. He wanted to know what it would have been like. He wanted to know.

_Would it be…_

There was a right way to do this. Castiel got up long enough to take off his nightshirt, and he looked up through the skylight. It was too bright for stars, but he lay under the moon and remembered.

That instant replayed in his mind, and he caressed his lips to it. So maddening to have come so close to a kiss, only to have it taken. The cool air from his fan ran over bare skin, dimpling it into tight goosebumps. He touched the inside of his wrist to his lips and kissed it.

_Would it be like this?_

Castiel let his lips glide over the thin skin of the inside of his wrist. He had tried this a few times but always ended with embarrassment or the fear of someone catching him. It was somehow more embarrassing than getting caught easing himself, probably because that was simply a function of the body and would be a way to turn away from carnal thoughts. Indulge them, release them, continue in the light.

And that’s what he’d do. Indulge them. Release them. Continue in the light.

Castiel tried his best to kiss his wrist and not wonder if he was doing it right. It felt good, tingling down his fingers until it ended in tight spirals on the pads, and he touched those fingers along the roughness of beard stubble, down his throat. He imagined Dean, floating above him in the moonlight, gentle and patient, teaching him how. He wanted to know.

The cool air had pebbled his nipples and he touched them, barely making contact. He skimmed a glissando over the vault of his ribs. Would they have stopped, at just a kiss?

The way he felt right now it would have been hard to stop. He slid his hands down to gather his flesh in his grip, and stroked.

He managed to keep his voice to a whisper, but… “Dean.”

He’d never imagined anyone else’s hands on him when he released lust. Every touch was somehow more intense, but so carnal, to think of Dean’s hands on his flesh—what would he do?  _Piano, Larghetto_. Castiel made a circle of his hand, imagining Dean in its place, kissing him, touching him with his perfect cellist’s hands, and—oh,  _Allegro, Vivace, Presto_ —

Castiel gasped at the force of his release. He curled his hips up, brought his hand down, thrust his palm against his mouth to muffle the noise. He wondered at the intensity, so much more than he usually felt. What would it be like with Dean, instead of the ghost of a half-kiss and just Castiel’s hands?

What would it be like, to lie next to him, to feel the soft heat of his skin without cloth between them? That was a longing that wasn’t quite carnal, so he held it while he wiped his spending from his chest.

He didn’t know what it was. Affection, yes. But more than that.

He wanted to breathe as one with Dean again.


	10. Harvest

Dean woke up and thought, _I nearly kissed Castiel last night._

He might want to die. And Cas had been so damn nice about it, talking in that way about beauty that would seem weird on anyone but him. And then he thought _wait, where is Cas?_  Because there was no sound coming from the piano.

Dean checked the time, but it was 6:30 and he hadn’t set the alarm wrong. Cas should be practicing right now, but it was silent down there.

What happened?

He almost doesn’t want to know, but he gets out of bed, puts on pajama pants and a robe, calls it good, and heads downstairs.

Castiel only drinks coffee on the weekends, when Dean uses the manual brewer to fix it. But today was Thursday and Castiel was in front of the coffee maker, watching it brew with a drowsy frown.

Cas wanted coffee?  _Drip coffee?_  Something was up.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Watching it doesn’t make it brew faster.”

Cas nodded, as if this unfortunate realization had recently come to him. “I had trouble sleeping. And subsequently, trouble waking,” Castiel said. “I’m willing to endure this stuff if it means I can get through Ethics class.”

“Ethics.”

“Apparently we must take a liberal art course in order to keep our education well rounded,” Castiel says. “I don’t mind it. It’s a bit about philosophical belief, and religious thought, and about morality versus ethics. It’s also amusing.”

The coffee burbled, signaling the last of the water pushing through the nozzle. Castiel opened the cupboard and took out two mugs, pouring them with an inch of space from the rim.

“I hope this works.” Castiel found cream and sugar and doctored his liberally.

Dean regarded him with some amusement. “How long has it been, three weeks of classes?”

“Yes. I already feel like I’m falling behind. I don’t have time for Ethics class. Learning to type is some kind of penance. Professor Harvelle is a most demanding private teacher, and I’m in her piano topics class, and I’m in her ensemble flight.”

“It means you’re among the best, Cas. She only takes three piano students. She gets the first round draft pick. Rumor says it was you.”

“I could have been fifth. Or ninth.”

“I doubt you were ninth. Fifth? I’ll tell you after I size up your competition,” Dean says, and punches Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel punches back. “I feel like it’s working.”

“Hope so. You couldn’t sleep, huh?”

Castiel blushed. “Not at first.”

 _Oh. Wait. Whoa._  Dean can’t think about this right now. “Well, if you want a few extra minutes to practice, I can drive you up. I’ve got to go run errands.”

“The groceries. I said I would go with you, Dean.”

“I’m not doing that until this afternoon.”

“My afternoon is free. I have Ethics and Ear training, then I have a 20 minute meeting with Ensemble,” Castiel said.

“Cas, I’m going to the farmer’s market.”

“I know,” Castiel said. “I want you to meet my family.”

 

So Castiel wanted Dean to meet his family? Well he had met them, in a way. He bought from their stall.

Was this a good idea or a bad idea? He didn’t know. But “errands” now included a trip to the car wash, so Baby would look absolutely her best.

He jacked his player into the dash (the only modernism he allowed on his immaculate and lovingly preserved 1967 Chevrolet Impala,) and tapped out the kick/snare beat of [Houses of the Holy](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sn_3s9wmZuQ). He bet that Castiel’s record collection didn’t include Led Zeppelin. Hell, Castiel’s record collection might not even have 1950.

He drove through quiet streets and wide boulevards and saw the dentist, paid the gas bill, and took a lot of time carefully detailing and waxing Baby so she shone. He stopped at the barber and got a little off the sides and the back cleaned up, and he had to quit rubbing the back of his head, but the velvety feel of freshly shorn hair was hard to ignore.

And that was why he needed to take another shower, to get all the prickly cut hairs off. He nearly put on his good cologne, but stopped himself. He was getting ready like he was going to meet Castiel’s family.

Well, he was. But not like that.

Not like that.

Castiel couldn’t sleep last night. Because Dean had almost kissed him? And now he wanted Dean to meet his family. His separatist, back to the land, religious family. He just needed to make a good impression, so they wouldn’t worry about the man Castiel had moved in with. Was housemates with. who had just barely missed kissing him.

Shut up, Dean.

He picked out straight legged dark brown jeans and a wine coloured t-shirt. It was still too warm for a jacket, and they were probably used to seeing those out in the world dressed like he was. The boots weren’t meant to be shiny, and he had a belt that matches, somewhere, where was it…

“Dean!” Castiel called. “I’m home.”

“I’m upstairs!” Dean hollered. The soft thump of Cas going upstairs soon followed, and Dean came out of his room, buckling on his belt.

“You look nice,” Castiel said, and sniffed. “And you smell nice. Dean. Are you nervous about meeting my family?”

“What? No,” Dean said, and tried a chuckle. “Okay, a little.”

“You won’t have to worry, Dean. They will like you. I like you.”

 

Castiel did change into the black jeans Dean gave him on the day he made him try on a bunch of his extras, and a white oxford woven shirt that he had picked out. It was something that he wore when he wanted to be more formal, and it looked…

Cas was trying to look like he did when he first left Heaven, but modernized. That made sense to Dean. He imagined he would try too.

The farmer’s market was crowded at the peak of the season. Dean stopped at the coffee cart and told Castiel that he should get a cup, and when Cas spied the long, serpentine necked kettles he agreed, but he made Dean sit down and drink the cup before moving on.

The market wound this way and that, through stalls, booths, tents, and little spaces where shoppers could just sit and catch their breath, often with a handy lemonade stand nearby. Dean liked the Farmer’s market. Shopping in winter wasn’t nearly as fun, so what if some things cost more? But Castiel seemed to know the twisting path well enough to make some shortcuts, and he led them to the extensive booth that housed the goods offered by Heaven Farms. Castiel smiled and walked towards a man dressed just as Castiel had been. He had same dark curls, and the most extraordinary light brown eyes. He smiled at Castiel, then the smile dropped into shock.

“Brother?”

“Inias.”

“Castiel!” He shouted, and shouted it again. “Castiel has come!” then he caught Castiel in a hug that lifted him off the ground, a kiss for each of his cheeks.

Soon he was surrounded by the people Dean had always assumed were Mennonites, by their old time clothing and plainness of dress. He knew better, and started to see details that he hadn’t noticed - a dark haired man with deep set eyes and a full beard had a wrist thick braid that dangled to his waist, but the unbearded boy beside him waiting for her turn for a hug was muscled across the shoulders and her arms looked like she picked up eight pound hammers and swung them around.

It was a rush of names. Inias, Anna, Hester, Michael - the men were Castiel’s brothers, and from the way Anna looked at Castiel, she probably was no relation. Didn’t leave a girlfriend back home? He thought, as she swung around in Castiel’s arms. Well maybe Cas thinks so.

People were starting to look at him, curiously, so he kept his smile on.

“Everyone. This is Dean Winchester. I answered his ad for a housemate and it turns out that he’s Deanna Campbell’s grandson.”

“I know you. Eggs, honey, cream, and whatever we have in season.” That from a lady with a brown braid over her shoulder that reached to her knees. “It’s good you like wholesome food, Dean Winchester, but you’re feeding my son now.”

Castiel blushed. “My mother, Naomi Bauer.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bauer.”

A boy in pants that didn’t come to his ankles came and took the pile of cloth grocery sacks.

“Whoa, there. Where’s the fire?” Dean asked.

“I’m getting your provisions,” the boy said. “You should have brought Brother Castiel sooner. We charged you like an outsider.”

“My youngest brother, Benjamin,” Castiel said.

Benjamin took the sacks away and started picking fruit and vegetables, tossed one to Inias, who stood behind the butcher counter, and it looked like he was planning on filling all the sacks with food. Oh, his aching wallet.

Castiel’s mother shooed Anna away to help customers, and then turned her attention back to Dean. “I’m glad to meet you, Dean Winchester. Do you attend the same school?”

“Oh, no, I don’t,” Dean said. “I’m a studio musician usually.”

“But you’re not that much older than Castiel.”

“Twenty four, ma’am.”

“And you’re not married?”

“Dean hasn’t yet met the right person,” Castiel cut in. “The light will shine on him when it’s time.”

Right person, not right woman. Cas was pretty good at the pronoun game. “When it’s time,” he agreed.

“What’s a studio musician?” Hester asked. She did have some powerful arms.

“He plays music for records, Hester.”

“Have you gone all over the world? Do you give concerts?” Hester asked.

“No, Hester. He plays music in a very small room. Only the people who need to record his music see him. Dean doesn’t like to play music in front of crowds.”

“Oh.” She turned to Dean again. “Does it crowd out the light?”

“What’s that mean?” Dean asks.

“We believe that when you play music, or make art, you can hear God. She’s asking if a crowd makes it difficult to listen.”

“Oh.” Dean said, and looked at Hester. “I think maybe it does.”

 

(Thank you for reading. I've put up [Appoggiatura on Ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1182197), but tumblr will always get the ficlets first, in the order they were written, while the Ao3 version will be behind while I wait for the right pieces to fall into order. but if you want to read the story in linear progression, there you are!)


	11. Hitch

Together he and Cas managed to haul the dozen cloth sacks full of groceries back to the car. They were heavy with fresh produce and liquids in glass jars. Castiel didn’t seem to be bothered by carrying the heaviest bags. He was smaller than dean, but a lot stronger.

They were in the car and out of the parking lot when Dean decided to ask. “Look I half hate myself for asking this Cas, but was that about getting me a staggering discount on food, or did you have something else intended?”

“Meeting my family?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted you to meet each other, and I didn’t want to do it at the commune. They’re less prepared for outsiders there.”

 

“So you want me to go to the commune with you. For holiday dinners or something?”

“I don’t know if I want to go back, Dean,” Castiel said. “What’s this?” Castiel pointed at the jack for his music player. “What is that?”

 _A subject change._  “It’s a mp3 player adapter.”

“Is it for that music you always play on headphones?”

He’d noticed that. “Yeah. Do you want to hear it?”

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Right now, it’s in my Led Zeppelin collection.”

“Can I hear it?”

“Sure. This is… This is where the blues wandered off to.”

And then there wasn’t anything else to say, so he just let it go.

Castiel stayed silent while listening: first to [Heartbreaker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhS6isyG2gk), then [For your Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rs-oBeV8FDc), and partway through through [Whole Lotta Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mln0RciE2o0), he said, “You could play this.”

“I guess I could. Heh. A Led Zep Quartet.”

“Or a trio. Maybe. It could be fun.”

*

Cas helped carry all the groceries. Benjamin didn’t overload them with things that would go off quickly - he was an impressive shopper - but they had plenty of potatoes, carrots, onions, and yams, along with enough apples that Dean had designs on making a pie.

The house had a cellar, and a cool room perfect for holding the surplus of root vegetables. Dean took them downstairs, and when he came back up, Cas had everything out of sacks and either in the fridge or arranged neatly by type - preserves, jam, sauces, and two jars of autumn honey. Dean knew that Cas preferred it. All the sacks were folded and ready to put away.

“Thanks, Cas. I should show you where all this stuff belongs, huh?”

“Dean.”

Something in Cas’s voice made Dean freeze, but he covered it by putting cans in the pantry. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t want you to meet my family because of… I wanted you to meet them, before… I don’t have any notions, Dean.”

_This is a talk, isn’t it._

“Cas, I didn’t go looking for a housemate so I could get laid.”  _Watch the slang._ “I mean, to uh…”

“Get sex from,” Castiel said. “I know that phrase. Now I do.”

Dean doesn’t know how to do this. “Well…that wasn’t,” Dean said, and let a deep breath go out in a rush. “This is awkward.”

“Unspoken words are the stones that build walls between people. I don’t want to build a wall with you, Dean. You are my friend.”

“And you’re my friend. And we can stay that way. Nothing has to change,” Dean said.

“Then why do I feel a pile of stones at my feet?”

Dean doesn’t know how to do this. He has to end it. He can just say the right thing and get it done. “I shouldn’t have done it, Cas. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“This is obviously difficult for you.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“So stay silent, please, and listen to me. You don’t have to answer me right away. Turn around too, it’ll help.”

No eye contact. He can do that. Dean looks at the neat rows of dry goods, aligned, labeled, arranged by date, newest at the back.

“I wanted you to kiss me.”

Dean stays silent.  _He did?_

“I was disappointed when you didn’t,” Castiel said. “Not just because I didn’t get to find out what it was like but because it was in your heart, and I don’t know if that means that I want more than that. The Children of God say that sexual feelings without love are carnal, and carnality is…”

“A Sin.”

“Unwise,” Castiel said. “Carnality only knows how to want what it wants. It doesn’t know how to care about others.”

“And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. But I still wish you’d kissed me, Dean. Even though I don’t know what it means.”

“Does it have to be love?” This is why he didn’t do it. Because it hurts, to love and not be loved. It hurts.

“Maybe not for some,” Cas said. “But that’s not how I grew up. It doesn’t have to be love, but the door should be open. That’s what I think.”

Dean can’t say anything. What can he possibly say to that?

“My stones are gone, Dean. Thank you for listening.”

Dean still counted to three before turning around.

Cas was gone.

*

Dean could not calm down. He tried to use putting the rest of the preserves away, he oiled his cutting boards, sharpened his knives, de-scaled the coffee maker, hauled out all his pots and put them back in better order. He couldn’t calm down.

He went into the music room and took out his cello and his care kit. He found a replacement string and a soft cloth, one of his stiffer flat brushes, and went over every bit of the cello, checking the seams, the bridge, the fretboard, fine tuners, everything.

It was time to replace his G-string. It usually fell out of sync with the other strings, but Dean would rather change one string than spend an afternoon doing all four of them one by one.

He pulled the string, added a smidgen of dope to his G peg, and stood up to wind the string on, his fingers on the string to feel the tension pull higher.

Castiel didn’t re-emerge, and he couldn’t calm down. Cas said that he didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t know.

_“I don’t know what I feel.”_

The string rose under his fingers, tightened. He pressed it down too easily and so turned the peg again, feeling for the tension that would make the string resonate and sing.

_(flexing fingers and struggle, lessening to a quiver as he slid the knot, taking it away until there was nothing but a ripple)_

Was it tight enough? He plucked. Not even close. He plucked again and heard the tone rise, a little more, a little more, plucked the C string at a fifth, let the tones mix and they crashed, ripples in a pool meeting. More tension. Not so much that  _(she)_ the string broke, but enough to make  _(him)_ it make the sound he wanted.

_“I don’t know what you want me to feel.”_

He pushed that voice away and sat with a tuning sensor, twisting the fine tuning to make the G a bit sharp. The string would stretch, blend with the others. He spun back and made the tone sing just right.

_“It was a game. Just a game. It went too far, and now it’s time to stop.”_

He’d just felt the walls going up, and he didn’t want that so he did what he had to do to pull them down. Cas was like that. Cas didn’t hold onto that feeling of innocence that made him peculiarly easy to be around through ignorance. No, Cas understood a lot more than people might assume, and didn’t let it taint him.

_“This was supposed to be casual. That was what you wanted.”_

Dean didn’t want to remember that. He didn’t want to. He needed to make it stop.

*

Dean slipped upstairs quietly, knowing where the stairs creak and so which ones to skip and where to step, but the thumping of piano keys told him that Cas was lost in music. From the cadence, it’s something Allegro.

Dean went into his room, closed the door, locked it. Skylights in the sloped gables of the ceiling beside dormer windows filled the room with light.. The ceiling was dotted by hitch rings sunk deep into the studs at perfect, regular intervals, some used for a hammock chair, the strongest arrayed around his utterly improbable, impractical, most beloved four poster, Birch log bed.

He knelt beside the bed and pulled a long sliding drawer loose. He drew out a length of rope. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and began.

This rope: hemp, many times washed, length nine feet, tipped in yellow vinyl. It bent in his hands, soft, supple as he ran through the knots and Benny’s voice faded. Someone might think it would get stronger, considering it was Benny who started the game of dares and forfeits that became—

 _No._  Dean stopped the thought, clean as an unbent line. He breathed in the grassy smell of hemp and let it comfort him. He wrapped it around the bedpost, twisting it into the beautiful one ended prusik, and snagged it up against the post. He tugged the main line, and it didn’t budge.

Down the length some Dean made a loop. The tree and the hole. That was how he learned it, the year Dad tried to make it in a house band in New Orleans. Dean joined the scouts. He laughed softly. If he had a nickel for every afficinado who learned the value of a good knot in the scouts…

Benny taught him this one. The tree and the hole and the rabbit, scampering into the hole until there was only a bit of rope left, and the end went around the tree and into the hole one last time.

Dean slipped his left hand through it and pulled. The ropes shifted together. Dean scooted along the bed, pulling until he had the proper tension, and relaxed. He breathed in the smell of hemp rope, felt the comforting cradle of neatly laid line, and tried to think about something else.

They used to lead each other around by those knots, only freeing each each other after performing some obeisance.

Benny would fight the rope, but he liked to kneel. Dean followed easily, but resisted submissive gestures, only giving them grudgingly.

Dean couldn’t remember how the game became about kissing. But he had started necking with Benny Lafitte in the woods most days of the week,  listening for snapped twigs or voices, ready to scramble apart and make it look like they’d only been sneaking cigarettes.

He shouldn’t remember this. But he needed to. He let his arm relax, supported by the tie and the tension. felt the stretch in the long muscles of his arm.

And still he remembered.

Benny had been in love with him. Whispered it to him, with his hands bound to a sapling as Dean crouched over him, kissing his neck and wishing he could make a sucking mark there, wanted to bite, but everyone would want to know who Benny had time to kiss in between football practice. Neither of them could let that happen. But Benny had said it and Dean had gotten off him and untied him so fast you’d have thought he heard someone coming.

“No,” he’d said. “That’s not in the deal.”

He sent Benny away. Threw away the rope. Quit scouts. But in the end, Dad listened to another promoter and he was ready to take Sammy to perform for a benefit when the lawyers came and took them back to Grandma.

No one had to tell him he’d hurt Benny. He knew.

But he didn’t  _know_  it until after Cassie’d walked out on him, and he realized that he had loved her, hopelessly. He hadn’t touched a rope until he could see her in the street and it didn’t tear a hole through his chest.

That was what he needed to remember. Love hurt, and he couldn’t take the chance.

But he had no idea what he would tell Cas, to take his stones away.

By the time Castiel had come out of his room and gone downstairs to play Bach on the piano, Dean still didn’t know. He slipped the French bowline and put the rope away. He didn’t know what to say, but he had to say something.


	12. Crescendo

Castiel had just begun No. 21, Canon on the Seventh of the Goldberg Variations when Dean finally came downstairs. It took a lot to keep playing.

Dean sat in his favored chair for listening, the bordeaux suede armchair. He listened quietly until Castiel finished and rested his hands on his thighs.

Castiel counted four measures at full rest before Dean said, “I think I like you, Cas.” Dean made a face. “I mean—”

“You mean you take a particular interest in me that is romantic and or sexual in character,” Castiel said. “I’m learning a lot in school.”

Dean looked like he wanted to laugh at that. He did smile. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. And I think I can turn back if I don’t do anything about it, and I won’t fuck up our friendship that way.”

“You fear losing my friendship.”  _Why would he fear that?_

Dean fidgeted in his seat, but didn’t look away. “Of course I do, Cas.”

“Does that mean that you would pursue love with me if you didn’t like me?”

“I—” Dean shut his mouth and traced circles in the suede.

“Or that you would, only if you didn’t respect me enough to be a friend.”

“Cas, I— don’t know how to explain.”

Was he pushing too hard? “Please try.”

“Let’s go outside,” Dean said, and he was at the French doors in a blink.

It was starting to get cooler in the evenings. The moon hadn’t yet risen over the house. Dean sat down on the porch swing, leaving room for Castiel to sit, heels dug in to keep the seat steady. Cas sat down, and the ropes creaked as the seat swung gently underneath them.

Dean took a deep breath, and held onto the rope threaded through the arm of the swing seat. “I fell in love, and she didn’t love me.”

Castiel waited. There had to be more.

“And before that, someone fell in love with me, and I didn’t love him.”

So this was about fear? “And you never had a love that matched.”

Dean blinked and looked at him. “No.”

What was he trying to say? “Did they all turn out like that?”

“Are you saying you love me, Cas?”

“No.” he wasn’t. “I can’t know that yet.”

“I don’t know  _how_  to know that.”

“You wait and see,” Castiel said. “You have to be patient. You have to honor the time it takes as much as you honor the person you’re learning to love. You wait. You trust. You seek what’s true.”

“What about the part where I want to kiss you? Does that wait too?”

Castiel’s heart leapt. “It doesn’t have to.”

*

Now he had to do it.

Castiel sat next to Dean on the porch swing and Dean could see it, even in the night. Castiel’s lips were parted, his eyes focus directed on dean’s face, and he looked absolutely hopeful. Dean remembered what Cas had said.  _"Not just so I would know what it’s like."_

Cas had never even kissed anyone. He wanted to kiss Dean. And Dean was a freak.

 _This ain’t about you. It’s about Cas. Now make it good_.

Dean didn’t look away. Cas followed Dean’s hand, circling around to slide up Castiel’s arm, over his shoulder, to his neck, his face, and then locked back on Dean with more anticipation and now some worry. Worry?

_That he was gonna fuck it up, stupid. Put him out of his misery._

Dean didn’t, though. He looked at Cas’s lips again, and had the pleasure of watching Cas gasp. He looked back into Cas’s eyes, dark gray in the night, and slowly leaned into him. Cas leaned too, but only a little.

He was going to make it good.

Cas didn’t eagerly try to kiss back. he stayed still, so Dean could brush his lips over Cas’s, smooth and firm. They softened, and Cas followed what Dean was doing, using his lips to just nuzzle to feel the velvety shock of thin skinned sensation, all the tiny movements. When Dean stilled, Cas stilled, and Dean kissed him.

Cas sighed, and did what Dean did. He followed each individual purse and tiny suction with one of his own, and when it was Cas who first darted his tongue out to touch the corner of Dean’s mouth Dean turned to meet him and kiss back.

Cas was a good follow. He followed Dean into leaning against the seat, groaned when it started to swing, and just lost himself, surrendering to what Dean offered. When Dean caught Cas’s lip in his teeth, Cas moaned and pulled Dean closer, dragging him to lie atop Castiel and hold him down with his weight and

"Cas," he whispered, and kissed him again before Cas can answer.

"Dean," Cas said. "Oh, Dean. This is—" Another kiss. Another.

"If we’re—" another kiss, lingering a little longer, "going to stay wise, we should stop."

"Noo," Cas said. It sounded like it was the worst thing Cas could imagine.

"Just for now. Come on, sit up." Dean helped him sit up, and smiled at how thoroughly kissed Cas looked, and how he looked like he needed to bring his mind back to thinking in words. His lips were flushed, plumped, still parted with rapid breaths. His eyes focused back on Dean, and Dean knew he was coming back for another one before Cas’s fingers found the back of his neck and dragged Dean back in.

Dean didn’t want to wiggle out of that kiss. Cas learned quick, and Dean was trying to fight a groan that would only push things faster and farther than he meant. But Cas let it end quickly before looking at Dean in wonder.

"You were wise, not to kiss me that first time."

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn’t have wanted to stop then either," Cas said. "And I wouldn’t have known what I know now, so it would have been harder."

Dean coughed. “It’s already pretty hard—hey!” Dean defended his chest from poking fingers, and just like that, they were laughing about it.

Cas took Dean’s hand and held it. “I mean it, Dean. I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t know it could be so—”

"Good?"

"Consuming," Castiel says. "I could kiss you all night. But I can’t think when you do it. I would have let you do more, because of those kisses."

Dean stroked Cas’ hand with his thumb, back and forth in an arc at the base of Castiel’s palm. “Cas, serious time. If you feel even a twinge of doubt about something we’re doing, say something. Don’t feel like you have to let me do anything, I mean it.”

"But what if I don’t want to stop?”

“Still tell me. Blue balls never killed anyone, Cas.”

“I know that. I can repair to my room and ease myself.”

“Like last night?”

He blushed again. Blushed. Son of a Bitch. How was Dean supposed to keep his hands off him?

“Yes. I had to. I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Cas confessed.

“What did you think about?”

“You kissing me. And—touching me, my flesh.”

He meant his dick. The teasing smile spread before Dean could stop it. “Oh Cas. That sounds…carnal.”

“It was,” Castiel said seriously. “I’m still ashamed that I thought of you like that.”

“At all, or without permission?”

Castiel blinked and stared. “What…”

“If you want to think of me while you masturbate, go ahead. I don’t mind you having a fantasy about me. That better?”

He considered it. “Yes. I will think of you tonight.”

“Good. I want to think of you too.”

“You may,” Castiel said. So serious. But it made Dean feel curiously light.

“We should go to bed.” Alone. For now. For as long as they could hold back.

Dean didn’t know how long that would be.


	13. Echo

Castiel went to school without a kiss, by his insistence. “I won’t want to go to classes if you kiss me,” he’d said. Dean let him go, and tried to concentrate on the music he’d gotten from the studio. It wasn’t terribly difficult, as it usually went with video game scores, so Dean ran it through a few times and read the score, playing around with reducing it just because the cello part was that simplistic.

The new G string felt noticeably more vibrant than the others, so Dean bit the bullet and replaced the other ones. Why not? He was going in to record next week, and a week of serious playing would get the strings conditioned to a good state. He had other cellos, of course, including a beautiful 19th century that he used for gut strings, but frankly it was just too valuable for him to feel comfortable using without a reason. Not that his darling was anything less than a top notch instrument, but at least it only cost in the five figure range.

But after replacing all his strings, the work he had to perfect was so whole-note and arpeggio that he went through Cello suite No. 1 just to break it up into something a little more fun to play. He couldn’t tell Castiel he played the Courante when he wasn’t there to hear it.

Or maybe he would, just to tease him.

*

“I’m home,” Castiel called.

“Hi honey, how was your day?” Dean called back.

“Funny,” Castiel said, and appeared in the music room. “I helped Kevin practice today. He’s got a cello sonata. Do you know Beethoven’s [Sonata No. 2 in G minor?”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmqZ3gLesCU)

“I do,” Dean says. “I can put the score on the tablets for us.”

“Please. Would you help me? I wasn’t happy with my performance.”

“You’re not performing it with him?”

“I’m not, but...well maybe not. the pianist he was assigned to is … unreliable. He never showed up to practice, and so Kevin asked me.”

“Cas, are you taking on another piece of music? You’ve got your hands full with Camille Saint-Saëns.”

“It’s Beethoven,” Castiel said. “And Kevin’s worried. That’s the problem with group work in music. If your partner drops the ball, you’re punished for it. He’s helping me, and I want to help him. Besides, his performance evaluation is during my Ethics class, and who wouldn’t skip that?”

“Skipping classes? You rebel,” Dean said. “Sure, I’ll help you. If you help me make us something to eat.”

*

“Something to eat” was Dean’s masterpiece burgers and herbed oven fries with the bottle of cider Castiel had been so happy to see yesterday.

“This is from the winesap apples, Dean. We only make a few of these without fermenting them.” Castiel smiled at the slightly cloudy cider, sipping it.

“I thought you didn’t drink spirits?”

“Spirits. Strong drink. Wine and Beer and Cider is acceptable in moderation, though I didn’t have any until I came here.”

“My corrupting influence,” Dean laughed.

“Dean, you don’t corrupt me,” Castiel said seriously. “You didn’t douse me in drink. I only got a little dizzy. It is acceptable on occasion, for special feasts and celebrations.”

“I know, Cas, I was just making a joke.”

“You don’t corrupt me,” Castiel insisted.

“You had Ethics today didn’t you.”

“Does it show?” Castiel said. “They talked about Marriage Equality.”

“And you were on the hotseat?”

“No. He picked on someone else, which is in a lot of ways worse.”

“Cas, you’re not his kickball.”

“Being proselytized to is irritating. I’m glad the Children don’t do it.”

“But someone said something about corruption?”

“About corrupting innocents to lewdness.”

“Kissing’s not lewd.”

“It’s not,” Castiel said. “Kissing is wonderful.” He gave Dean such a smile that the threat of an unfinished lunch became very real.

*

Castiel liked playing with Kevin. It wasn’t that. It was simply that he couldn’t stop wishing that he was playing with Dean.

They hadn’t played together yet. They traded songs, until their duet. Dean usually practiced whatever he was working on to play in the studio for recordings while Castiel was in school.

Maybe it was the performance thing?

He watched Dean play around with the tablets. Tablets were amazing - only the screen of his laptop, and you could touch it. There was no cursor to lose. No mouse to direct. The typing was even worse than with a laptop, but if that could be solved the touch screen was worth everything.

But best of all, it did this.

The music paged itself automatically. It *heard* what Cas played, and paged at exactly the right moment. He wants one. Just for this. All the music he could grab off the Pettruchi music library, with a little work in his own hand, and all the music he dreams of on this magic window.

“I really need one of these,” Castiel said.

“You want to borrow that one? Sammy bought a new one for himself just before he went to school. I can check with him but I bet you could probably have it.”

“I love the music on it.”

“Trick I learned from Sam. It’s cool, huh?”

“The world outside has wonderful things.”

“You keep saying that,” Dean smiled and stood up. “What part did you want to play?”

“First movement,” Castiel says, and then realized that Dean had moved his chair.

Usually Dean played at a distance, leaving space for an absent violinist, but now his chair sat near the bend. He’d turned it, so he’d be seated at 3/4 profile, the way Kevin sat while they practiced together.

Cas would be able to look right at him.

He’d just have to concentrate. He had sheet music to look at, after all.

*

Castiel was hanging on to this Sonata by the skin of his teeth. He wanted to get up, walk the three steps over to Dean’s chair, kindly take his cello away and kiss him. The need crackled through him. But at the same time, playing with Dean was everything that he’d hoped for and he never wanted it to stop.

They connected. From the first chord, Castiel could hear nothing but them playing together, the sustain like a contented hum from Dean’s throat. Castiel played treble notes like rain sliding down a window.

All the best music made him think of listening to it in the rain, and this was for a daytime rain, with a silvery sky and the vivid green of drenched trees. The music felt liquid, smelled of wet stones and earth through an open window.

Every chord they played in unison stirred him up a little more.

But then came the 2nd dance, and they played in echo to each other, swirling up into the bright scales and around to melodies that braided together, rose, and held.

Castiel looked at Dean in that pause, and Dean was looking back, and Castiel had no idea how his fingers came down exactly so, but Dean led the melody and he followed until they circled around each other’s parts, and back to another pause.

The look Dean wore made Castiel’s mouth go dry, but he led the theme, and Castiel followed. They played to a near exhausted pianissimo, and surged to the end. Dean lifted the bow off his strings and damped the sound the moment Castiel pressed the pedal.

They stared at each other in that silence. Let it hang.

Dean nodded, and Castiel began the sparkling music of the rondo.

Dean knew. Knew that he wanted nothing more than to get up and kiss him, but Dean wanted the rondo, wanted to see it through, and they dashed to the next repeat of the theme. Castiel got through the finger tangling rise along the board and Dean smiled at him, watched him while he was at rest. Castiel realized that Dean knew this music so well that he was guiding Cas through it, smiling in approval as Castiel attacked the music, playing with more flair than he’d thought he had. Dean found the way to draw him out and ask for more.

He knew he’d always try to give it. That he would find it, if he had to.


	14. Air on a Saturday

Dean opened his eyes when his phone said, “Jerk.” That was Sam’s custom alert. At…7:30 am. On a Saturday. He reached for his phone, unlocked it, and read:

**Dean are you up yet**

Seriously? Dean shook his head and tapped back:

 _I’m up now. Wheres the fire?_ He sent it off so Sam’s phone could announce, “Bitch.”

Dean hoped he was out in public. Phoning him at the crack of dawn. Maybe it would just be something short and he could go back to sleep. He still felt sleep’s fingers stroking his temples. He could fall back asleep.

**Don’t you do a bigass breakfast on Saturdays?**

_When I’m not sleeping in. What’s up_

**I’ve got my flights for Thanksgiving break and also I’ve got the solo in the November concert.**

_That’s awesome!_

Well, Dean was up now. Might as well head out there and take on some eggs.

**I was so happy I had to tell you right away. How are you?**

Time for an update. What could he say? Dean could see it now: The sheltered guy who moved in with me wants something I’m not sure I can do.

Instead, he texted _The music I’ve got for the new game is boring. But it’s money, so whatever_

**Sucks. No epic battle music?**

Oh yeah, he’s a damn fine kisser for a noob.

_No. It’s all pastoral, simple themes, you know stuff that loops well_

**It’s money though. How’s Castiel? Check that out, I taught my phone Castiel.**

Did I mention that he’s a virgin, and I have absolutely no business messing around with virgins? Dean didn’t text that either, opting for _He’s fine. We were up late last night._

Relatively late. He had kept stranger hours than that when he was in high school and Dad was getting in at 3 in the morning, and Dean had to get up and make sure he hadn’t left his guitars behind or fallen asleep with a cigarette lit.

_Hang on brb_

He let the water in the shower hit him in the face, and he made it quick. Sammy was on a texting tear, probably coming home from some mad Gatsby party or some damn thing and bouncing around on a bus up to wherever that pub is. Dean had no real idea what New York was like. They’d never lived there.

When he was dry enough to handle his phone he saw that Sammy just responded back with **oooo** , and Dean laughed. No oooo. Definitely no oooo, though there could have been plenty.

After they had played Cas’s request, every nerve under Dean’s skin quivered. Cas was gifted. Dean knew that. But until they’d actually played together, he hadn’t known how Castiel could connect to Dean, tune on him, bring that closeness to their music. He barely had to nod to let Cas know when to end a sustain. And by the time they’d gotten to the rondo, Dean knew that if he didn’t watch it he’d take them way too far, too soon.

So he tried talking to buy time. When Castiel mentioned the Lord of the Rings, he leapt on it. They could hold hands, sit shoulder to shoulder, be close without Dean having to hold the control that was already tattered to threads.

Dean watched Castiel watch his first movie. It had been amazing. Every emotion played across Cas’s face. Dean watched Castiel’s delight in the Shire, his foreboding at Gandalf asking Bilbo about the ring, his suspense and fear while Frodo fled from the Nazgul. He was put out at the lack of Tom Bombadil, but other than that he was sucked right into the experience, and Dean was happy he’d converted Grandma’s old bedroom to a home theater.

They had kissed: a short meeting of lips, just before a half-asleep Castiel went into his bedroom, and Dean into his, because he had to.  Or else he’d hate himself for what he’d done after that.

Actually, Sam would oooo at that, and he’d never hear the end.

_Lol we were watching the Lord of the Rings, he’d never seen it._

**So sheltered. What’s next?**

_Harry Potter._ Dean couldn’t wait to show him Harry Potter. He’d never read those books.

**Seriously dude, religious communes suck.**

_Look, I get to watch all these movies again and eat coconut popcorn, I’m not even mad._

**What’s after Harry Potter?**

_Shit, I don’t know. Star wars?_

**Good idea. It’s too bad they started that series on chapter four.**

Dean laughed. _Real shame. What are you up to in New York anyway?_

**Actually I’m on my way to an Irish pub.**

_At this hour? You’re not old enough to drink._

**I’m going to play fiddle with some old timers, not drink**

That was Sammy. He was a concert violinist, probably destined to tour the world and record music and get marketed in a way to attract young people to classical, but the moment he heard a reeling fiddle he’d started seeing folk music on the side.

_Your violin instructor gonna be okay with that?_

**Who says she needs to know?**

_You and Cas both, total overachievers. He’s learning a sonata he doesn’t have to learn because Kevin Tran has an absentee partner for his next group assignment. S2 Beethoven._

**You used to play that with Grandma. You play it with Cas?**

He never played that sonata quite like that. Ever. _Last night. Hey can I give him your old iPad? He’s in love with it_

**I thought he hated computers.**

_He does. But he loves that sheet music app you found_

**Everyone loves that app. Because it’s awesome. Are you making breakfast?**

And in that moment, he decided. _Cinnamon pancakes with maple cream cheese syrup and bacon_

**You are a dick. A total dick.**

_Come on Sammy, you were the one who woke me up early, I’m going to eat these without you._

**Once Cas eats those you’re going to make him fall in love with you.**

“Yeah. About that,” Dean mutters. _They’re not that good._

**Are you kidding me? If I get a chance that’s going to be my “great night now love me” breakfast. I’m not even sure I should cook them for Jake.**

_That your roommate?_

**Yeah, he’s pretty cool. He plays everything. One of those guys.**

_Is he cute?_ That oughta shut him up for a while.

**Actually…**

_Shut the front door_

**Shut up. He’s damn handsome. I can see that.**

_You know straight boys are allowed to realize that other boys are handsome, Sammy._

**Sure.**

_But?_

**Dean, he’s *really* handsome, you get me?**

_Got a pic?_

**Sec**

Jake Talley was indeed handsome. He had short, tightly curled hair shaved nearly to a shadow, dark skin, darker eyes, and he cradled a clarinet in one hand. He looked at something to the left of the camera, his attitude one of listening thoughtfully. His button down collared shirt was a deep blue.

_Hoo, Sammy. I don’t blame you. Look twice. Look three times. Look again for me._

**Shut up. It’s not like that. He’s got a completely hot girlfriend.**

_All right. You gonna break your heart on his heterosexuality?_

**No. Fuck you are such a jerk. I don’t know why I tell you anything.**

That made Dean wonder why he didn’t tell Sammy about Cas, what was really going on with Cas. And him.

Maybe next time.

“Good morning,” Castiel said. “You are laughing at your phone. Is that Sam?”

Dean didn’t look up. He waved and kept his eyes on his phone, tapping out the next text to Sam. “Hey, yeah,” Dean said. “He’s going to go fiddle with some old dudes in a pub somewhere.”

“That sounds like fun. Say hi?”

_Cas is up. I woke him up I think. He says hi._

**HI back to Cas. Oh yeah, do you have a pic?**

“Sam says hi,” Dean said, and flipped through his photo gallery. He did have a pic. well he had more than one, but he had a favorite. He’d taken it while Cas was playing a Bach sonata for him. He’s got one hand high off the keyboard, sitting straight up, and his face is alive with happiness. Dean debated sending it. It’s too personal.

But the photo Sam had sent was the same kind of thing, so he stopped debating and attached it.

“That’s me,” Cas said, from over his shoulder.

“It’s you,” Dean agreed. “Sam asked me what you look like.”

“You should take a picture of me now,” Cas said, and Dean finally turned to look at him and stopped texting, stopped his question, stopped everything.

Castiel wore the jeans. And a checkered shirt with snaps instead of buttons, unbuttoned, with one of Dean’s heather gray t-shirts under it. It fitted close enough that it stretched across his chest.

Dean dropped his gaze to the pale, tight blue jeans, and hastily looked back up.

“Damn it, Cas, what are you trying to do to me?”

“You didn’t kiss me last night.”

“I did.”

“Not the way I was hoping for,” Cas looked down for a second. “I wondered if you didn’t want to.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “I did, I just—you hadn’t seen a movie, I wanted to show you—”

“Jerk,” Dean’s phone said.

Castiel stopped Dean’s hand with his own, stopped him from looking at whatever Sam had to say, stopped him from escaping. “I liked the movie. But you didn’t have to show me all three and a half hours of it.”

“I don’t want to screw this up.” That wasn’t what he meant to say. But it was true.

Castiel nodded, and something in his face relaxed. “I understand. When you learn a new song, do you play it perfectly on the first try?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want perfection now?”

“Because I make a mistake, I hurt you.” Again, blurting the truth. How did Castiel do this to him?

“I won’t shatter, Dean. And if you hurt me, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Last night hurt. I liked the movie but I didn’t like it as your shield.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. I’m going to go change.”

“Please don’t,” Dean said. “Or, are you uncomfortable?”

“A bit,” Castiel blushed. “But I wanted you to notice me.”

“I notice. And Cas.”

“What?”

Dean stepped into Castiel’s personal space and kissed him. Not in a way that would make them skip breakfast, not a little peck, but a gentle, simple kiss. When his phone started playing [Air on a G ](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Air+on+a+G/4QVMOB?src=5)for his Saturday alarm, he settled his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, ignored the damn thing, and kept kissing. Soft, careful. And if he didn’t stop they were going to miss breakfast, because the gentle meeting of their tongues was fizzing all over his scalp and down his back.

Regretfully, he pulled away. “Breakfast. Then I want to help you with your reduction, like I promised I would. Then whatever you want to do.”

“Maybe not everything I want to do.”

“Cas, you are killing me.”

“Jerk,” Dean’s phone said.

“Dammit Sammy,” Dean muttered.

“I…should not wear these jeans often,” Cas said. “I’ll be back.”

He smiled at Dean and went back upstairs.

Dean checked his phone.

**Dean he’s really good looking. You should totally date him.**

And then, from the text a few seconds ago:

**Or are you breaking your heart against his heterosexuality?**

_He’s a virgin,_ Dean texted back.

**You poor bastard.**

****  
  



	15. Little Wing

Castiel got out of the too tight blue jeans and re-folded them. They still felt strange, but Dean’s reaction to them was a convincing argument to keep them.

Castiel liked how Dean reacted to him. It made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

Since it was Saturday, he put on the medium blue jeans that were a bit too long in the legs, resolved to hem them later (for the fourth time) and settled on rolling up the cuffs.

Whatever Dean was cooking for breakfast was redolent with cinnamon. Castiel breathed deeply and decided that whatever Dean was making, it was probably going to be sweet.

He went back down to the kitchen and watched Dean stand over the island with the gas range, minding bacon on a griddle pan, another pan with thin, cinnamon scented pancakes, and a double boiler warming maple syrup.

“Pancakes.”

Dean looked up, and smiled at him. “You like them?”

“Love them. You cook them with cinnamon?”

“These are the house special. A cross between cinnamon buns and pancakes, with lightly sweetened whipped cream cheese and warm maple syrup.”

Castiel realized that purring mmmm came from him. Dean looked up, startled. He mustn’t distract Dean while cooking. “You said you had a recording of the second sonata I’m performing with Kevin.”

“Might be performing.”

Castiel shrugged. “I’m taking it as a given. Is it a record?”

“Compact Disc, and…shit. It’s been so long I never re-organized the discs when the renovation on the AV room was finished.”

“I can search for it, if you tell me where to look.”

*

Castiel really liked the movie room. Well, Dean called it the AV room, but to Castiel it was the movie room, a dark and comfortable place with sound all around him and a huge black tv on the wall that lit up with the unbelievable magic of movies.

He looked inside the walk-in closet that had been converted to hold CD cases. And Dean was right. Not all the CDs were arranged in alphabetical order. Determined to find it, he started at the beginning and worked his way one by one through an impressive collection of music.

Some of the discs didn’t have words on the spines, and he had to pull those out. Some of them were missing the front jackets, and had a printed disc inside. Others were written on by hand. One of those hand-written discs made him stop flipping through the cases. He took it out, stared at the label, and grinned.

He took it out to the kitchen. “Dean.”

“Did you find it?”

“I found this.”

‘This’ was a compact disc jewel case, labeled “[Dean’s Makeout Mixtape (on CD)](http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/Dean+s+Makeout+Mixtape/95397851)” in black marker.

“Oh no. That still exists?” But Dean was smiling, wiping his hands on his apron to take it out of Castiel’s hands. “Sammy made it for me as a joke gift. Turned out I actually liked it, but I never let on. I put it on my computer and it got assimilated into my music collection.”

“So you’ve never actually made out to it?”

“No,” Dean chuckled.

“Do you want to?”

Dean looked up. Stared at Castiel for a moment.

“Hell, yes.”

*

Castiel was happy as the cat who got the cream. Dean wouldn’t let him in the movie room, saying that a makeout session was serious business and he had to get everything together.

“I thought it was something you did in the back of your car.”

“Tempt me with a location switch when I’m halfway done.”

“Some other day, Dean. What should I do?”

“You should…haha, put stuff in the dishwasher?”

“I can do that,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Wear something comfortable. Just give me a little time, I’m a genius at work, here.”

Dean slipped back inside and continued to move furniture.

*

“Is it ready?” Castiel asked.

“Danse Macabre first.”

“Dean.”

“I know, I know, but I said that I would run it through. And once we get in that room I don’t think we’re coming out for a while.”

“Is this revenge?”

“What? No,” Dean scoffs. “But we decided to work on this, before we. Started kissing.”

“We did.” Castiel says. “But we didn’t decide to watch The Fellowship of the Ring last night.”

“I promise,” Dean said. “I promise that when we’ve done some work I’ll get that tray of food I fixed up and plenty to drink, and we will go in that room and there will be nothing but the makeout tape, on repeat. And we won’t come out for hours.”

*

Castiel held Dean to one run-through. He had good things to say about the cello part of the arrangement, played while Castiel carried the violin and piano parts with improvisation.

“It’s too bad Sammy isn’t here. I’d like to hear this complete.”

“Jo is a good player, but if I asked her I’d have to ask Kevin and then you wouldn’t get to play.”

“I know. We’ll play it again—”

“Dean.”

“Tomorrow,” Dean said, “And record our tracks. We send them to Sammy, he plays them, sends you comments, records his, and I can mix it and play it back. It’s not the same as being together, but he won’t be here for another month and that’s too late.”

“I’m glad you’re helping me with this,” Castiel said. “So we’ll play it again tomorrow.”

“Yup. Will you meet me in the AV room? I need to get a few things.”

Castiel’s stomach did a happy tumble. “It’s okay for me to go in?”

“Yes.”

*

The room was dim. Dean had pulled the blinds down, turned on some lights that pointed towards the deep eggplant walls. He’d also made a pallet bed from a thin mattress covered in blankets that felt like short shorn fur or satin, with black pillows. It wasn’t anything like Castiel’s hand sewn quilt or the scrap blanket.

It wasn’t anything like Dean’s room, of which he only got glimpses when Dean was coming out or going in, a room that glittered with silver rings on the sloped ceiling, all white on gray on black, the bed centered exactly, perfectly on the old heart pine floor with birch sapling bedposts. This was dark, soft, fuzzy. His hands loved it. He took off his socks and buried his toes in a velvety lap blanket.

Dean came in then, and closed the door with his heel. He had a covered tray and a pitcher, and he set them on the coffee table with a shy smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Castiel said. “Is that for me?”

“It’s for us. So we don’t have to quit for supper. Unless you decide it’s no fun.”

“Dean. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Dean made a face. “I am not this easy to read.”

“Of course not, Dean. Not usually. But am I pushing you into something you don’t want?”

Dean sat down next to Castiel, facing him. He leaned against Castiel’s thigh and his left hand, and drifted light fingers down his face. “Cas. Listen to me. I want you like crazy. Too much. I’m trying to keep control of myself. To not go too fast. Not go too far. I feel like I have to do that.”

“Do you think that you wouldn’t stop if I asked you to?”

“I’d stop even if I worried you were uncomfortable, just to make sure you were okay.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

“Cas, I’m worried that you won’t stop me where you ought to. That girl I loved, who didn’t love me? We were electric. The sex was good. It was great. We dived right in and we didn’t stop, and then when we came up for air, we were on different shores.”

That made Castiel sit up, lean back. “Are we on different shores, Dean?”

“We know each other some,” Dean said. "I want to know more before we lose our heads."

“So let’s set a place to stop. Where do you think we’re okay?”

“No intercourse,” Dean said. “Not yet.”

“I agree. Is there more?”

“No oral.”

“That means with the mouth. You kiss with the mouth, so I don’t understand.”

“I mean nobody puts their mouths on each other’s...uh.” Dean gestured at his pelvis.

The image of Dean’s mouth on him there made him shiver. Lips to kiss him, Dean’s tongue on his most sensitive places, his flesh actually in Dean’s mouth. “I want to do that.”

“Slow down, tiger,” Dean chuckled. “I promise you that we’ll get there.”

“All right.”

“And no frottage.” Dean said. “Okay, no naked frottage. No naked. Shirts off. Pants undone, probably okay.”

“Rubbing? You don’t mean with your hands.”

“No. I mean you can do it, ah, flesh to flesh, I think you’d say. And it feels really good. And we will do it. Just not yet. Hands are all right.”

“Nearly what I dreamed about,” Castiel said, and smiled. “What did you dream about, Dean?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you that now, or later.”

Dean leaned across Castiel and started the music.

Castiel looked all around him as the electric guitar shimmered through slow picked chords and arpeggios, coming at him from all directions. It was luminous.

“This is also where the blues wandered off to,” Cas murmured, and then a woman’s contralto purred out of the speakers and his skin came alive with tingles, washed over by the sound of another kind of magic: the rock band.

He looked back at Dean, who watched him with a wondering smile.

“I love being there when you discover new things.”

“I love discovering new things with you,” Castiel sighed.

Dean kissed him all through the second song, but Castiel broke off from a slow burning kiss to gasp at the sound of two mandolins ringing out The Battle of Evermore.

“That’s gorgeous.”

Dean laughed.

Castiel looked back at Dean.“What’s funny?”

“We finally get here and you’re too distracted by the music to make out.”

“Sorry.” Castiel took Dean’s hand. “I like it in here. It’s very comfortable. It’s a bit…there’s a lot of new things in here.”

“It’s okay. But I should have let you listen to it first.”

“Maybe.” Cas needed to focus. “Tell me what you dreamed about.”

Dean’s smile faltered for an instant. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Dean. Is it something you fear telling me because I won’t understand?”

“Oh, I know you won’t understand,” Dean says.

Castiel leaned in slowly, fingers just under Dean’s chin, and kissed him.

Dean kissed back, lips tense and closed.

Castiel drew back. “Are you ashamed of it?”

“It’s weird. And maybe it’s because I have issues,” Dean said.

“Okay,” Castiel said, and turned so they were side-by-side. He took Dean’s hand in his again. He lay down on his back, and closed his eyes.

“Take your time. Talk to me.”

**  
  
  
**


	16. I Want You (she's so Heavy)

(Please note that this ficlet is Not Safe For Work. I Warned the people who read this section in advance. They were at work. It’s not my fault. So now I’m warning you: it’s NSFW.)

_“Take your time. Talk to me.”_

Dean swallowed. His mouth was dry. He settled on his back and squeezed Cas’ hand, and Cas squeezed in return.

Castiel deserved to know. It could mean this was over before Dean even figured out what it was. How could he even start talking about this? “Help me.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand. I’m here, the squeeze said. “How?”

“Tell me what you dreamed of.”

“Kissing. You floating above me, kissing me, and then your hand, on me, making me release.”

Dean let out a breath. “Wow. Similar. Only… reversed. You’re floating above me. Only you’re floating because I…suspended you.

Of course Castiel doesn’t know what that means. Dean tried again. “Have you seen my room at all?”

“Glimpses. It’s very clean looking.”

Dean chuckled. “I’m a tidy guy. But did you see the rings?”

“In the ceiling.”

“They’re for bondage, Cas.”

Castiel stayed silent, and then said, “I don’t understand.”

“For immobilizing…well in my dreams, you. In my dreams I weave you a net of perfectly tied ropes, all over your body. The rope is beautiful. You are beautiful in the rope. But your trust, knowing that I wouldn’t hurt you, only want you to feel good, wouldn’t ever let you fall…”

Cas stroked Dean’s thumb with his, and listened.

“That’s the best of all. I dreamed that you would let me tie your wrists, so you were letting me decide what we do. Trusting me not to hurt you, to let me have the power, to give it up for a while and let me take care of you.”

“Do you ever like to be tied?” Castiel asked. “Do you like to give it up for a while?”

“I have liked it,” Dean says. “There’s a thing that happens, when you’re tied up in a good way. They call it getting ‘rope-stoned.’ It’s very relaxing. Everything feels blissful and dreamy and at the same time so sexual.”

Castiel’s hand squeezed, and he made a little approving murmur.

“In my dream, when I’ve got you suspended just above my bed, you’re rope-stoned and it’s perfect.”

“Have you felt it?”

“I’ve felt it, a couple of times. I felt a little funny about it because of the circumstances, but I think it would be amazing with someone you really cared about. So yeah, I’d teach you to tie me.” Dean said, and Castiel squeezed his hand again. He’s still with me.

“Do you always need it?”

“No,” Dean said. “And I’d never do it with you, if you didn’t want to.”

“But if I did,” Castiel said, and Dean’s heart leapt.

“Then it’ll be like this. We’ll take it easy. You don’t think it’s strange?”

“I think it’s strange, Dean. But I find that many strange things are wonderful. Did you bring some rope?”

The question sets him on fire. “I didn’t. It is way too early for that, Cas.”

“Well. You could hold my wrists down.”

“You don’t do half measures do you, Cas?” Dean flipped over on his side, and put his hand on Castiel, felt his chest rise and fall, the heartbeat under his ribs.

“I’m curious. I want to understand this. You enjoy it. And I enjoy listening to you talking about trust.” Castiel rolled to face him. “I can trust you to hold my wrists, Dean.”

“Right. Now we talk about safewords,” Dean said, and pulled Cas in close. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Give me a word you can’t imagine yourself saying during sex, something that can’t be mistaken for a play no.”

“Knitting needle,” Cas said promptly.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Time for a quiz.”

*

Dean came up for air and Cas clung to him. He tried to pull Dean back down for another kiss, but Dean reared up higher, out of reach.

“What’s your safeword, Cas?”

Castiel blinked at him, lips rosy and parted. His breaths were heavy, and on his neck a most fetching blush rose from under his t-shirt.

“Dean, it’s okay,” Castiel said. “I don’t need to stop.”

“Oh Cas,” Dean said, and sat up. “It’s a quiz. You need to be able to tell me what your safeword is when you can’t think straight. Otherwise, how do I know you’ll be able to remember when there’s trouble?”

“Knitting needle.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Now tell me when I ask.”

*

Castiel made the most amazing noises when Dean brushed light circling fingers over his nipples. They beaded up to press greedily against the pads of his fingers, wrinkled and hard as Castiel arched his back and moaned—

“What’s your safeword, Cas?”

“Nnnnuh. Ah!”

All right, maybe that was a little unfair. But Dean still grinned when Cas wailed and groped for him when he stopped.

*

He was going to leave a mark.

He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Cas to touch this spot just below the collarbone, where it couldn’t be seen - but oh, how he wanted to send Cas to classes with a fantastic fuchsia and scarlet sucking bruise where no shirt would hide it, and embedded in it would be the letters “Adored by Dean Winchester” for anyone to see and understand, but he only sucked a little. Until Cas made a high, breathy little whimper.

“What’s your safeword, Cas?”

“Knitting needle!”

“Are you calling it out?”

“Dean please don’t stop,” Cas panted

“I won’t stop,” Dean promised. “Castiel, may I pin your hands and kiss you?”

“Please. Yes. Yes.”

*

Castiel was responsive. He’d learned to kiss quickly, and he kissed wholeheartedly. But with his wrists pinned to either side of his head, held down by Dean’s strength, most of his weight straddled across Castiel’s hips—when pinned down, Cas went wild.

He struggled against Dean’s hands, which only made his hips flex and roll. He squirmed under Dean’s weight. And When Dean got close enough that the puff of his breath touched Cas’s mouth, he lifted his head to meet Dean the rest of the way, kissed him with moans of pleasure buzzing his lips.

“Is that good? Do you want me to let you go?”

“Don’t,” Castiel tried to reach his lips again. “Please don’t let me go.”

“I won’t,” Dean promised. He never wanted to let him go. Castiel struggled in his grip and begged for more simultaneously. When he opened his eyes, He looked at Dean as if he were the only real thing in the room. How could he let Cas go?

He already didn’t want to.

He wished he’d brought some rope, but he never dreamed it would be anything but too fast, too weird. But here was Castiel, striving against his hands, hungry for kissing, starved for the pressure of Dean’s body on him, the weight pinning him down so he was safe to writhe underneath, covered and protected. It entranced Dean. Dimly he realized that he was floating through a hazy euphoria, but some part of him watched for any signs that something was off.

Good. He could still do that. He was glad.

“Time to come down, Cas.”

“No, please,” Castiel said, and Dean laughed. Softly. He kissed Castiel and let his wrists go, ended protest when he went after his nipples, made him shudder with light fingers across the lean ridges of his torso. But the gasp and moan when Dean reached inside his pants and discovered the slippery head of Castiel’s uncut cock—he had to fight to stick to the _no oral_ limit. Knowing how Cas tasted shot up the list to shove and wrestle with _Single point resistance, double French bowline, supine position_ for things he absolutely had to do.

He wrapped Castiel’s cock up in his hand and let his touch glide over the silky skin, and Cas’s breath came in hot panting grunts. He tried to get a grip on himself, but Dean tightened his hand and let the foreskin slide, slippery already with his excitement, and Castiel came apart in his arms.

It was glorious. He just gave everything over and let go. He filled Dean’s ears with his jagged breaths and percussive gasps, fucked the tightening circle of Dean’s hands, grabbed at Dean’s shoulder like he was going to fall off the edge of the world.

But Dean would never, never let him fall.

He held Castiel, only twisting away to grab a towel to wipe Cas’s belly and his own hands. He drew the light, fuzzy blanket over their bare torsos, and kissed Cas’s forehead as Castiel burrowed into the blanket and Dean’s chest. Dean rubbed Castiel’s back and told him he was good, he was beautiful, he was amazing, and that everything Cas wanted was great.

He loved this part. Basking in the afterglow of the experience, gently stroking Cas back into sense, being there when he came down from the high, keeping it warm and soft and safe so the things he might think he ought to be ashamed of became wonderful.

“Dean.”

“Cas.”

“That was so.”

“Cas, you’re amazing.”

“You are too. I’m sleepy. Feels good. Can I—”

“Close your eyes, Cas,” Dean said. “I’ll be right here.”


	17. Cacophony

Who Castiel was depended on where he was. The kitchen was where he was Cas, Dean’s housemate and sous chef. The music room was where he was Cas, Dean’s collaborator and friend - he was a friend everywhere, but most especially there. The back porch was where he was Dean’s listening ear, but that was blurring as it was getting too cold to swing out there even with blankets and hot sipping chocolate. In the AV room where they cuddled together watching movies, where Dean held his hands down, pinned him with his weight, kissed him, touched him, Castiel became someone he didn’t understand, but craved intensely.

The walk to classes made him into Castiel Bauer, piano student, first year, Hufflepuff. He knew what that meant, now. And more importantly, now he knew what that haunting theme he heard in the halls of the music department was.

Castiel became the odd one with the weird upbringing and the maddening ideas. He became the talented pianist with expressive skill, the in-demand partner for small performance groups, the shy guy who was a little weird but nice.

He walked away from the campus and turned in another direction, neither Cas nor Castiel Bauer but a stranger, some student probably, blending in and anonymous. Cas didn’t mind being a stranger in a group of strangers. It was easier than being a stranger where people thought they knew Castiel, their brother.

Castiel, their brother.

Castiel knew then what he was doing.

He stopped in his tracks, upsetting someone who had been walking behind him. He mumbled an apology as he walked back to the house. Every step stripped away Some Stranger, and Castiel Bauer, Hufflepuff and brought him closer to the haven of Cas.

He let himself in through the deep red front door and walked into the kitchen.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean stopped writing his list to pop a quick kiss on his mouth. “Classes okay?”

“I have to perform with Kevin tomorrow after all.”

“No Ethics for you! Nice one. You want to come with me to the Market? It’s the last day of the season.”

“You’ll need help carrying the groceries, Dean. I will come with you.”

“That’s great,” Dean said.

*

“You okay, Cas?”

Here was another place where he was Cas - in the passenger side of Dean’s classic 1967 Chevrolet Impala, with a song about growing up to be a good, [simple man](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHQ_aTjXObs).

Cas tried not to listen. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking.”

“About your family, or about classes?”

“About both,” Cas said.

“I see.” Dean shifted in his seat, and turned the music down. “So. Keep it cool around the folks?”

“What?”

“I mean, should we not let on about,” Dean chuckled. “You know I’m not sure what to call it.”

“About our intimacies?”

“Yeah, what you said.”

“I think that would be best.”

Dean stays quiet.

“I don’t want to tell them,” Cas says. “Not on the last day of the Market. It’s a very busy day. It wouldn’t be fair to disrupt their day.”

“And it would be a disruption.”

It would be a disruption that made Castiel quake inside to consider. “Should I tell them anyway?”

“Probably not,” Dean said. “Look, I can’t tell you when to talk to your family, Cas. You’re the best judge of that.”

Was he? Cas wondered.

The dirt parking lot of the farmer’s market appeared too quickly. Cas wished for another five minutes.

“It’ll be okay,” Dean said. “I’ve played it cool before.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Dean said.

Brother Castiel made sure the door was properly locked before walking into the market.

*

There were many hugs and kisses of greeting, but none he dreaded so much as the glad embrace of Anna Milton. Naturally, that meant she saw him first.

“Castiel has come!” She called out, and then ran into his arms.

Castiel looked at Dean who looked back with…a little amusement, a little sympathy too, but he had to inspect turnips to stop the look on his face.

“Anna,” Castiel said, among kisses on both cheeks.

“I missed you,” Anna reached up to brush Castiel’s hair out of his face.

“It’s been a week.”

Dean was comparing one turnip to another intently.

“We were together every day,” Anna smoothed the collar of his shirt, laid her palms flat on his chest. “We all miss you.”

Castiel resisted pulling away, but he had to stop this. “I miss you all too,” and looked over Anna’s shoulder. “Inias.”

He let Anna go and hugged his brother, then the rest who gathered around. Everyone tried to talk to him. No one would give him a breath before speaking again.

“I knew you wouldn’t bring enough bags,” Mother said.

“Mother, we have plenty in storage,” Castiel said.

“Brother, will you have room for these bottles?” Inias asked.

“We won’t be able to carry all of this,” Castiel said.

“I’ll help,” Inias said.

“I’ll help too,” Anna said.

“You have to go and sign for our share receipts,” Inias said. “You won’t have time.”

Dean accepted bags from Benjamin, and watched Castiel.

Castiel grabbed a jug in each hand and led the way. Once they were out of the hearing of the crowded stand, Castiel knew Inias would ask him what was wrong, and then he could talk about the stress of classes. It wouldn’t really be a falsehood. Classes were stressful.

“Brother, have you met a girl from Outside?” Inias asked.

Oh.

Castiel thought a word he’d only said aloud once. “No,” Castiel said. “I haven’t met a girl.”

“Brother…”

“I haven’t met a girl.”

“You imply you’ve met someone,” Inias said.

Castiel hitched the cider bottles up, renewed his grip on the ring handles. “Inias.”

“I won’t tell.”

“I haven’t met a girl,” Castiel said.

“So Anna has no need to worry?” Inias asked.

Castiel took too long to answer. “The big black car, in the back row.”

“There are stones, Brother.”

“I don’t want to hurt Anna.”

“I understand, Brother. But can you avoid it?”

Where was Dean? Castiel turned around. Dean was a ways back, whistling.

“Oh hey, I’ve got the keys,” Dean stepped between Inias and Castiel, setting down the grocery sacks.

“Thanks for coming out to help us, Brother,” Castiel said.

“Any time, Brother,” Inias said. “I should get back, but if you want to talk, you know when I’m in the barn.”

“I do,” Castiel said.

*

Dean had put the groceries away in silence. Castiel tried to help, but somehow he just wound up being in the way. He stood around the kitchen for a few minutes, but Dean neither turned around or asked him for help or even made a comment about the weather.

Castiel didn’t know what to do. He fled to the piano, but he couldn’t think of music. He got away from the piano, but couldn’t quite go back into the kitchen.

He wound up sitting quietly in a listening chair. He watched the door until Dean appeared in the doorway, unsmiling.

“Dean.”

“Castiel,” Dean said.

Not Cas. The pang in his chest hurt. “Dean, I--”

Dean cut off Castiel’s words with a abrupt wave. “I’m not done,” Dean said.

Castiel closed his mouth.

“You said you didn’t leave a girl behind, Castiel. The first time I saw you with Anna, I thought you were wrong. Now? I think you were lying.”

Castiel dropped his gaze to the flowered gray carpet. “Anna’s just a--”

“The truth, Castiel Bauer.”

Castiel sighed. Dean hadn’t moved from his place in the doorway, standing as if he expected a challenge.

“Anna’s parents and mine have agreed that Anna and I should marry,” Castiel said.

“Arranged? Officially?” Dean ran a hand through his hair, looked at Castiel with disbelief. “ Are you engaged?”

“No,” Castiel looked at the brilliant yellow leaves on the weeping birch just outside the window. Looked back.

Dean still hadn’t moved.

“But it’s difficult to go against your parents’ wishes. And if I hadn’t needed to leave Heaven, Anna would be a good wife that I could grow to love.”

“You’re saying you don't love her.”

“Not the way that she deserves,” Castiel said. “Inias …”

“Did you tell him?”

“I did not.”

“Why, Castiel?”

“I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

“And what about me.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I didn’t mean to. I am so sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” Dean pushed at his hair again, looked at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know.”

Dean turned on the threshold and walked out.

*

Castiel kept the little booklet for his phone in with his papers. He found it under his admission letter and looked up how to make his phone come up “private number.” If anyone but Inias answered the commune’s cell phone, he would hang up.

He sat on the edge of his bed and dialed.

The phone rang twice before it picked up. Castiel got ready to hang up, but Inias's voice came on the line.

“Ahoy, Brother.” Inias said. “I thought you’d call.”

“Inias,” Castiel said. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. Brother, what do you have to tell me?”

“I said that I hadn’t met a girl, Inias. That is true, but still a falsehood.”

“Then what is true?”

“He’s Dean, Inias.”

Silence on the line. Then: “I said I would keep it a secret, and I will,” Inias said.

“I’m sorry for that.” Secrets are stones, even the smallest.

“Is it … just a dalliance, Brother?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “Not to me.”

“But to him?”

“I think… not to him either.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“I hurt him today, Inias. I’m calling because I hurt him. Do you understand?”

There was silence. Castiel drew the outline of a star’s point, waiting for the truth to settle.

“I understand,” Inias said.

Castiel could breathe again. “He’s special, brother. It’s not just carnal.”

“I believe you. You should tell Anna.”

He dreaded that as much as he dreaded telling Mother. Did he not want to hurt them? Or did he want to avoid this feeling? He was ruining everything. He was breaking hopes.

He deserved this feeling.

“I should tell Anna,” Castiel said. “I hate to hurt her too.”

“I don’t think you could avoid it,” Inias said. “Should I come and fetch you?”

He didn’t want to do this. He hurt Dean.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “You should. Can you do it now?”

“I’ll be there.”

 

Castiel took the time to change clothes. The door to Dean’s room remained closed.

The heavy canvas dungarees were closest to the clothing he’d worn before. His old shirt, the one his mother had made for him, went on over the bright blue t-shirt Dean liked him to wear. Sam’s old high school jacket fit him in the shoulders, but was a bit too long.

He’d hurt Dean. He should have known that he would. He should have told him the truth. This is the reward of falsehood, Castiel Jer--

Before he thought twice, he strode out of his room and knocked on Dean’s door.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, and called out, “Jeremiah.”

The door opened. “What?”

Castiel stood back. Dean stood in the narrow opening of his door, territory defended.

“My middle name is Jeremiah. Castiel Jeremiah Bauer. For the next time you call me out for being a fool and mean to read me the law.”

“Jeremiah.”

“Yes. I called my brother. He is coming to get me. I’m going to tell Anna.”

“What’ll you tell her?”

“That I can’t marry her. That I don’t want to. That I would have because it was my duty, but that Inias has loved her all along, since he won’t tell her. That I was cowardly because I didn’t want to hurt anyone, and the consequence is that I hurt everyone. And I will tell her about you.”

Dean stayed silent, still listening.

“I will tell her what she can bear to hear, but I will tell her about you. And then I will come back here, and apologize.”

A horn blared. Castiel knew that sound.

“That’s Inias. I have to go.” Castiel headed for the stairs.

“Michael.”

Castiel stopped. The third stair creaked as he turned around. “What?”

The door stood a little wider. Dean stood just outside it. “My middle name is Michael.”

  
  



	18. One Week

_**Sunday** _

 

Sam had sent a recording of him playing the violin arrangement an hour before Dean and Cas even made it into the music room. Castiel saw the endless stream of messages:  **Hey, what do you think?**  And  **You can’t still be asleep**  and  **Ground Control to Major Tom**  that just became a running commentary on Sam’s day.

It took a long time for Cas to tap out Hello Sam this is Castiel.  _Thank you for recording so quickly, we haven’t even made it to the music room yet._

**Oh yeah? What were you up to?**

_Dean had to rake leaves. I decided to help._

**Right, yard work. Nice to type to you. Dean likes you.**

_Thank you, Sam. I like Dean too. Raking leaves is pleasant work._

Sam didn’t reply. Castiel wondered if he’d said something wrong, and decided to try a different direction.

_I am listening to your performance. It will be quite useful. Did you have any feedback for me about the violin arrangement?_

**Are you sure you want to bring the violin in before the beginning of the 3/4 time signature?**

_I thought it was more accessible for a piano student._

**Hell with that Cas, arrange it for you and make everyone else catch up! I wish I could be there in time to really help.**

_You are helping, Sam. Dean is here. I will let him talk._

“It’s Sam,” Castiel said, and handed the borrowed iPad over.

“Thanks. He did the recording?”

“Some time ago, if I read this right.”

  


_**Monday** _

 

**So you were the first round draft pick in piano, huh**

The bubble popped up on castiel’s screen, and cas swept tasks aside to find it.

_Sam?_

**HI Castiel. Dean told me you were in piano topics**

_I am_

**Well if you got Aunt Ellen for private lessons that means that she didn’t have first pick on keyboard skills. Aunt Ellen was on the faculty when Grandma was, so I know the score. Did you get Foundations of Psychology?**

_Ethics_

**Oh I am so sorry. What days?**

_T Th F 9 am_

**I promise you Foundations of Psychology is better.**

_Sam, how do you know these things?_

**I took classes there when I was in High School. So what else did you and Dean do on the weekend?**

Castiel was pretty sure he shouldn’t talk to Dean’s brother about that.

_Dean has been showing me movies._

**Right he told me. You’d never seen a movie before?**

_Not like that._

**Did you like it, then?**

_It was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen._

 

_**Tuesday** _

 

**I’m rescuing you from Ethics. How’s it going?**

_Sam, I don’t hate anyone. It’s a petty and small emotion that diminishes the spirit._

**Okay, sounds like class is a doozy.**

_It’s the worst thing imaginable. I am going to fail this class._

**You won’t**

_You can’t know that_

**Yes I do. Hand in all your answers to the weekly questions. Answer them honestly. Don’t tell ProZac to cram it. Even if really want to. Are you in the competition?**

_My application was accepted_.

**Excellent. Have you played in front of an audience?**

_The commune doesn’t count, or the auditions?_

**Okay. How are you at picturing things in your head?**

_Pretty good._

**Right, so think of this. everyone is interested in you. they’re curious about what you’re going to do. They know this kind of music, and they know piano, so you’re in an educated audience, who will be fair about your performance, but they’ll also root for you.**

_Sam, is this about Dean?_

**Yeah. Dean can’t get on a stage. I don’t know how to help him.**

_But why is my performance comfort important?_

**Because, Cas.**

Only Dean called him that. To Sam, he was Cas too.

He liked being Cas.

**I read your arrangement. I’ve heard Dean talk about your playing. You’re top pick in first year piano. I can’t wait for Thanksgiving break, not just to come home, but to get a chance to play with you.**

_I’ve heard you are a good player too, Sam._

**And I want a trio again. Dean thinks very highly of you.**

“Something interesting, Mr. Bauer?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “It’s very easy to get distracted.”

  


_**Wednesday** _

**Entertain me, I’m bored.**

_Are you in your diatonics class?_

**I wish. A history of philosophy.**

_Why can’t music students take literature?_

**That’s second year. once you get used to the routine. How’d you like Harry Potter?**

_It’s amazing. And now I know why ProZac said “ten points to Hufflepuff” the first class I had with him._

**wow.**

_Now I want a black and yellow striped tie._

**Can’t help you there. mine’s green and silver.**

_Slytherin?_

**House of greatness.**

_They didn’t seem very nice._

**Movies make the villains clear cut. Easier to narrate that way.**

_And now I know what that theme is I hear in the practice rooms sometimes_.

**Hedwig’s Theme. If you can’t find it, ask Dean. He’s got it somewhere.**

 

_**Thursday** _

_Sam_

**Oh hey, Cas. you figured out how to open the chat?**

_I did. I will be skipping Ethics tomorrow. I have a performance with Kevin, as his accompanist is completely unprepared._

**yeah, cut-throat support of your team. You’re getting it, young padawan.**

_Sam, I don’t understand._

**Uh, that’s Star Wars. No matter what Dean tells you, there are only three movies. Got it?**

  


_**Friday** _

 

_Sam_

**Cas**

_Sam, I need help_

**Sure. what do you need?**

_What are Dean’s favorite things to eat?_

**He loves pie. and cheeseburgers. and milkshakes.**

_I think i can do all of that_

**Why what’s going on?**

_I made him mad at me yesterday, and I still feel bad._

**Well in that case only do one of those things. you do too much for him after something like that you’ll … look, I don’t know how many rumours you’ve heard about us.**

_Gossip is the devil’s mailman. But Dean told me some._

**Well let me tell you that we used to get some pretty lavish things to make up for Dad not being that great of a dad. Pick something small, something that you don’t have to work too hard on.**

_Thank you, Sam. That will help a great deal._

**Cas, can I ask you something?**

_You may._

**Do you like my brother?**

_I do. He’s a good and patient friend._

**Okay.**

_Wait, do you mean like like?_

**Oh thank god. Yes, Cas. Do you like my brother?**

_Yes, Sam. I do._

**Then make him a pie. Apples are in season.**

_We have many apples. I will. Thank you, Sam._

 

_**Saturday** _

**So how did he like the pie?**

**You can’t still be asleep.**

**Ground Control to Major Tom**

 


	19. Sarabande

Things weren’t better. Hell, Dean didn’t even understand what happened. He had been angry with Castiel, but he understood that Cas hadn’t been prepared for the family situation.

Dean had told Castiel about the rope.

Castiel should have told Dean about Anna.

So what if he didn’t know what to call the fledgling thing that was happening between them? So what if he wasn’t sure he could call Cas his boyfriend? Cas’s first response when asked had been to deny everything.

Dean shut himself in his room and tried not to remember, not to wish, not to regret. They hadn’t gone very far. Dean could still walk away. He wasn’t going back in the fucking closet for anybody.

He remembered the way Castiel’s wrists trembled and strained under his hands. How Cas’s tendons rippled under his palms like cello strings. How he had gasped Dean’s name into his mouth and the pitch had hit him like a truck.

He remembered the way Castiel leaned away from Inias and the negating, denying shake of his head, and that hit him like something sharp.

Dean didn’t know how Castiel had gotten under his skin so fast.

He was fighting the spiny pain in his throat when Castiel knocked, and Dean thought  _I’m not letting you see me like this_  and ignored the door. Then Castiel had called out “Jeremiah,” and it was so damn  _weird_  that he was on his feet with the door open, and listening to Castiel—not apologize, but tell him what he was going to do right then to fix the situation, and then he would come and apologize.

Nobody’d ever done that.

They apologized, and never did anything but promise empty crap. Or they adjusted course and never acknowledged that they fucked up in the first place, acting like it didn’t matter. He knew a smooth routine when he heard one. He grew up with an endless parade of bluesmen like his father and their promoters, glad-handing one minute, gone the next.

Castiel didn’t make promises, and he didn’t do things halfway. Castiel wasn’t going to act like nothing happened. Cas was going to come back, ready to talk.

Dean didn’t like talking. Too risky, Too many feelings. He would have to talk to Cas, who would expect Dean to tell him the truth.

*

Castiel faltered on the walkway from the house when he saw that Anna was also in the truck, but he picked up his courage and got in the passenger side.

She smiled at him, her hands clasped tight in her lap, knees high on account of sitting in the middle of the front bench seat. “That’s a pretty house, Castiel Bauer. That house is loved.”

“It is,” Castiel said.

Inias drove out of the neighborhood. He found a convenience store, announced that he needed some water, and left the truck.

“Castiel,” Anna turned so her knees touched his, twisted to face him best as she could. “Inias said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I do,” Castiel said, and took Anna’s hand. “Do you remember the day our parents told us that they thought we should marry?”

“Yes,” Anna said.

“How did you feel?”

“I was happy,” Anna said. “I knew that they’d made the best choice for me.”

“I believed that too. But I can’t marry you, Anna.”

Anna’s brown eyes widened with shock. She didn’t say a word. Castiel held her hand and went on. “Listen to me, this is important. It’s not just because I went Outside.”

“But it is because of that.”

“In part. But Anna. Inias loves you. I’ve known since before our parents talked to us. He never said anything because it would bring strife. I never said anything because I was going to do my duty. But he loves you, Anna, and I was going to do my duty.”

Her voice shook. “Is it…Do you love a girl from Outside?”

“No,” Castiel said.

She looked over his shoulder before looking back. “Do you love a  _boy_  from Outside?”

He owed her the truth. “Not yet.”

“Oh Castiel,” Anna breathed. “Your mother will be so disappointed.”

“I know. But at least there’s Inias. And Benjamin still has growing up to do. Maybe it’s just us.”

“I understand, Castiel,” Anna said. She looked out the windshield, jaw clenched. Inias stood in sight of the truck, bottle of water in hand. He didn’t watch them.

Anna looked back at Castiel. “How does he make you feel?”

“Sometimes just looking at him will make my heart glad. And I hurt him today.”

“That’s why you’re talking to me. Because you hurt *him*.” Anna took her hand away, tucked it around her middle. “Does he love you?”

“Not yet,” Castiel said. “And I may have hurt him too much.”

“If you hadn’t met him, would you still be ready to do your duty?”

“I like to think that I’d have become wise enough to get out of my brother’s way,” Castiel said. “I like to think that.”

Anna’s chin went all the way down to her chest. She shut her eyes tight, and swallowed.

“There is no apology I can give you that will make this better. I knew what Inias felt for you and what I didn’t. I know I can’t fix this.”

“Why are you telling me about Inias?” Anna asked.

“Because you deserve to know, Anna,” Castiel said. “I think he won’t say a word.”

Anna looked out the windshield. Inias was still not looking at them. “You can’t just hand me off like a parcel.”

“I apologize, Anna. I should have said something earlier.”

“You should have, Castiel Jeremiah. You should have said something much earlier. I daydreamed of our house. I made quilts. I embroidered the Sunday tablecloth. I’ve stitched ten thousand wishes for you.”

“You are right to be angry at me.”

“Yes, I am. I am furious with you. There are stones between us, and I won’t pick them up today.”

That was her right. “When that day comes, I will listen.”

*

The heavy-thrumming engine of the Heaven Farms two-tone blue and white truck came just at dusk.

It was too cold to sit on the porch swing, but Dean had made made hot chocolate in the double boiler. He poured two mugs and got the pot under water while Castiel put away his boots and his coat.

He walked into the AV room and kept the lights dim. He tucked himself into the left corner of the sofa and waited for Castiel to sit down.

But he didn’t.

“I told Anna I couldn’t marry her. I told her about you. I told her that I thought of her as duty, and that you make my heart glad when I look at you. I hurt her. I was a fool. I couldn’t do anything but hurt her, but lying to myself about it hurt you. I didn’t have to do that.”

This was not what Dean had expected. “How do you figure?”

“I could have told you my misgivings instead. We could have solved the problem together.”

“You could have done that. And you’re right. We could have figured it out together.” Cas couldn’t have automatically known what he was supposed to do. They had to talk.

“I denied you a chance to tell me what you wanted,” Castiel looked down at his feet, and the rest came out in a croak. “I didn’t give you proper respect.”

“Cas, come on you didn’t know, you’ve never done this.”

“But you have.”

*Yeah,* Dean thought, *and I brushed it off*. He had put the first stone down when he tried to act nonchalant, like it didn’t matter. “Cas, the first time I ever had anything going on with a guy I did way worse than you. It took me three years to figure out what you did in three hours.”

“I still did wrong. And I can’t promise that I’ll never do wrong again.”

“I told myself I wouldn’t let you fall, Cas,” Dean said. “I didn’t think about you tripping on your own feet. Come here.”

Cas shuffled forward and knelt, laying his head on Dean’s knees.

Dean blinked, but he stroked Castiel’s hair. “It’ll be okay,” Dean said. He’d never gotten a better apology in his life. He didn’t even know what to do with it. “You’re forgiven, Cas.”


	20. Verse

Dean needed five takes to get his part of the pastoral music for one zone of a giant mmo down.

“Sorry, Charlie,” Dean said. “It’s been a weird … while.”

“I know something’s going on with you,” Charlie Bradbury said from the booth. “How about we knock it off for an hour, eat something.” Charlie turned off the in-session light and Dean packed up his second-best cello.

“I am  _not_  this easy to read,” Dean said.

“Of course you are, Dean. That pretty face of yours can’t hide a thing. Now first off. Girls or boys?”

“It’s a long story.” Dean said. “That I’m not going to relate in a sound booth.”

More lights went off. “Okay spill it,” Charlie said. “No recording devices are currently activated. Girls or boys?”

“My housemate.”

Charlie cocked her head and raised The Eyebrows of Concern. “What, the religious guy?”

“He’s not what you’re thinking. Or what I told you I was thinking. He’s more…Unitarian Universalist than old-time religion.”

“All right. So do you like him, or does he like you?”

“Charlie, this conversation has a one drink minimum.”

“My office.”

*

Charlie’s office was on the southwest corner and two walls of glass looked over the sprawl of city buildings. Dean’s favorite Star Trek TOS pinball table had a drink holder on it.

 

“That's the only one you get if you want to drive out of here,” Carlie said, and handed Dean a glass of beer the color of rosewood.

“What are we drinking this time?”

“Drink it.”

Dean had a sip and his eyes widened. “What is this?”

“Aged in Pinot Noir wine barrels with rye malt and blackberries.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“People like to do nice things for me,” Charlie said. “Now lose that game and tell me what’s going on.”

Dean let the silver ball slide off the flipper. “We — it’s complicated.”

“You did not get complicated with the boy straight off the farm.”

Dean scowls. “It wasn’t part of the plan, but I did.”

“Why?”

“First, his music. How about you press play and listen to that.”

Charlie caught the player, stuck her own headphones in the jack, and held one padded speaker to her ear. “This is from a lesson?”

“Ellen records all her lessons. What do you remember about your piano lessons?”

Charlie listened, frowning in concentration. “So, he’s good.”

“He’s good. Charlie, he’s really good.”

“So what, is he some kind of talented play by ear type who doesn’t give a damn for sheet music?”

“Ha, no. He knows music theory. He’s at the piano at 6:30 am on weekdays, eight on weekends since I like to sleep late. If he doesn’t compose stuff in the future I will eat my hat.”

“You don’t wear hats.”

“Whatever. He was Ellen’s number one after placement auditions.”

“Okay so he’s talented. And good looking.”

“How do you know that.”

Charlie made a face. “Honey, you’re hunksexual. So did he turn out to be gay or bi?”

“I think he’s one of those love is love types.”

“Close enough. Is he a demon in the sack? He’s a demon in the sack. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

“He’s a virgin.”

Charlie coughed on her beer. “Plot twist.”

“Are you dying?”

“I just. Dean. What are you  _doing?_  Between you and me and the wall, your insouciant style and preoccupation with knots means that you are not for beginners. How are you going to tell him?”

“He already knows.”

“So. Hunky, talented, well-behaved, virgin—still, right?” Charlie ignored the death glare that came with Dean’s nod. “So do you play together?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s like … being with someone you know so well you can finish their sentences.”

Charlie didn’t reply at first. She squinted at him. “Well.  _Wow._  Dean, are you in love?”

Dean scowled.

Charlie laughed and poked Dean in the ribs. “Fine. Interrogation over. Are you still going to Reeve for us next Saturday, or have we lost you to your dream man?”

“Of course I’m gonna Reeve for you next Saturday.”

“Bring him. He can be your squire or something. I want a look at the boy who toppled Mount Winchester.”

*

There was a lot Dean hadn’t told Charlie.

Not that he told Charlie everything about his life, but she was the bratty sister he never got. What started as a working relationship in the studio became gaming buddies.  Charlie was who he turned to when he was stitching his heart back up after Cassie had broken it.

That beer had been strong. He had stayed in the studio long enough to get fed a salad and yam fries before he felt like his head was clear. He left Charlie with renewed promises to bring Castiel and made his patient way out of the city.

Her question rattled around in his head:  _Dean, are you in love?_

How should he know? it was too early to know, he told himself. Too soon to make that call. They’d known each other a couple of months, started with the kissing a month ago. They had their first fight just last night. Dean wondered if it was a fight. Cas didn’t try to defend what he’d done, but it didn’t feel like him submitting to avoid a fight, either. Cas was too real for that.

And yet...not.

Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he was letting suspicion and the expectation of that other shoe dropping get to him. He didn’t know, and he should just leave it alone.

He pulled his car into the garage and came in through the french doors of the music room. Cas was at the piano, and the smell of spiced apple pie filled the air.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, but kept playing. “Kevin’s performance went well. My Ethics assignment is half written. I made you a pie, but it’s too warm to eat just yet.”

“Cas, you didn’t have to make me a pie.”

“I don’t have to. But we have enough apples to can or juice in that noisy machine of yours, and I wanted to make you a pie.”

“You’re playing [The Swan](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Saint+Saens+Carnival+Of+The+Animals+No+13+The+Swan/6EzSTD?src=5).”

“Yes. Another project with Kevin. This time with a dancer.”

“Ballet?”

“I’m not sure. I think not, though. It’s for the December holiday festival recital for the high school. Will you practice it with me? The piano part isn’t the point of the song. But you were recording today, weren’t you?”

“I can play it,” Dean said, and got his darling out. “She’s not cold. Give me an A?”

*

The song’s cello part was a beautiful sweep of melody. Dean didn't need to look at his sheet music. His hands remembered this song from early lessons. But he needed to concentrate, because he couldn't stop staring at Castiel.

They agreed on the moments when they would let a note sustain just from their expressions. They watched each other for the pleasure of keeping their gaze on each other, to feel that knowing.

Dean bowed out the last note, and Castiel rang the last broken chords to wind down the end, and they sat in the silence.

“You let me lead,” Dean said.

“It seems right,” Cas said.

“Right for the music?”

“That too,” Cas said, and Dean’s heart thumped in his chest.

“That pie a bribe, Cas?”

“The pie is for you,” Castiel said. “Because you like it. And I wanted to do something nice for you. Dinner is just warmed up chili.”

“Hey now, my chili is awesome,” Dean said. “And it’s even better with some beer.”

“Drink is for celebration, Dean. Are we celebrating?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “Yes, we are.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Making up.”


	21. Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Dean went into the cellar to fetch a pair of beers to go with the chili Castiel spooned into hand-thrown bowls. Castiel recognized them as Inias’s work. Heaven sold them at the winter fair by the piece, but Dean had picked out plates, bowls, and mugs Inias had made exclusively.

Castiel touched the rim of the rounded, simple shape, glazed with the plain white Inias favored for his work on the outside, the inside rim a rich wash of mallard green over umber and taupe. He hoped that he’d done the right thing for Inias, and that he hadn’t been too late.

He set their bowls on the dining room table, flanked each with a side plate stacked with yesterday’s machine-made bread and sweet butter. He carried the pie out to sit at the table, and found Dean staring at it with longing, the two bottles of beer in hand.

“Dinner first.”

Dean laughed softly and poured out glasses of beer, handed one to Castiel.

“Here’s to making up.”

“To making up.”

“And kissing on the couch.”

Castiel smiled and let the sweet brown ale slide over his tongue.

***

Dean moaned at the first bite of that pie. he set his fork down, closed his eyes, and leaned back. “Cas. You. Are a  _genius_. This is awesome.”

Castiel knew that pride was the greatest danger, but he felt it and didn’t care. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? It’s amazing. Name your price.”

“Kissing on the couch,” Castiel said.

“Done.” Dean savored another bite of that pie. “First tell me how you made this.”

“Guess.” Castiel could watch him like this for an hour. Two hours.

“Butter crust,” Dean said. “Honey and sugar, cinnamon, allspice, cardamom, saffron and ginger?”

“And a tiny bit of nutmeg. Maybe not enough?”

“Never say it,” Dean said. “This pie. Is amazing. What do you do to blueberry?”

“Ask me in August.” Where did that come from? Would he be here in August? He wanted to be. He should work with his family. He wouldn’t be there for most of the harvest. Heaven needed every hand. But he wanted to be here.

“I will,” Dean vowed. “Believe me I will. What do you do for Thanksgiving?”

Castiel had another bite of pie in his mouth. He held up his hand, chewed, swallowed. “We don’t celebrate it.”

Dean stopped a forkful of pie mid-flight. “What, really?”

“Or Christmas.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t celebrate anything. What about your birthday?”

“Was October 5th.” Castiel couldn’t help smiling.

“You’re kidding me, mixtape day?” Dean chuckled. “Well, we did celebrate. I just didn’t know that was what we were doing.”

“It was a very good birthday, Dean. Thank you.” Castiel scraped up pie filling and crumbs with the side of his fork. “And we do celebrate. We feast and we dance and we play music and seek revelation. It’s just not the same calendar. We celebrate naming and dedication.”

“When is that? Your naming day.”

“December 7th.”

“You don’t name your kids for three months?”

“Usually. Unnamed babies are blessed with qualities. Patience, Hope. Or love names like sweetness, precious, things like that.”

“So. December 7th, huh?”

“Yes. You were named on the day you were born?”

“January 24th.”

“We’ll have to celebrate.”

“Speaking of celebrating,” Dean said. “The couch awaits.”

“Can it be my turn to do all the kissing?”

“We’ll work something out.”

***

Somehow it turned out not to be Castiel’s turn. He didn’t know how it happened, but probably with the kisses. Cas couldn’t think right when Dean kissed him. He’d meant to stop it but the gentle brush of lips across his, the way Dean held his face, gentle but exactly how Dean wanted it, the things he would whisper to the corner of his mouth would set off the glowing fuzzy pleasure that rained down over his skin. All he could do was kiss back and fall under Dean’s enchantment.

Somehow, he always wound up here - under Dean’s mouth and fingers, his chest bare, his back sliding along the suede couch cushions. Always here, Castiel gasping out Dean’s name as he writhed under those clever hands, touching him in a way that was fifteen degrees off of a tickle and pointed straight into carnal pleasure. Dean knew every little spot on his chest, his stomach, and his so-sensitive hands and wrists.

“How do you—” Castiel said, and Dean traced the arch of his ribs with the point of his tongue, sucked in air on the return path to chill it, and Castiel couldn’t get the rest out.

“Shh.” Dean breathed it over his skin, so light Castiel’s focus narrowed on that upward path across his ribs, back up to flick over a nipple, hard and eager for Dean’s circling tongue.

“Dean please,” Castiel begged.

“Please what?” Dean asked, his kisses already headed for the other nipple, and Castiel tried one more time.

“I want to do what you like.”

“Cas. This is what I like,” Dean said, and his warm hand caressed Castiel’s bare skin. “I like this. I like you. And I love making you feel good.”

Castiel plucked at Dean’s shoulder, pulled on the t-shirt that still covered him. Dean caught his hands, held them, kissed the pads of his fingers.

“We’ll get there,” Dean said. “You’re not ready.”

“You’re not ready.”

The kissing stopped. Dean let Castiel’s hands go.

Castiel felt cold, but Dean was there, his arms snaked under the couch cushions, and the warmth was all around him.

“I’m not,” Dean agreed. “You’re right. But we’ve got time. Don’t we?”

“How long?” Castiel asked, and kissed Dean’s jaw.

“A long time,” Dean said. “If I get to say. A long time, Cas.”

***

Dean didn’t get up from kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, but they went back to the beginning. Kisses, light circling touches that had Castiel reaching for more, and Dean’s hand dragged out those not-quite-tickles over Castiel’s bared skin. He teased at the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, unfastened them to Cas’s heated kisses and rocking hips. Castiel raised his hips to help Dean push them just that little way down, and arched eagerly into Dean’s hand.

He went slow and light, and Castiel whimpered in protest. “Please, Dean.”

“I’ve got you, Cas. Let me.”

Dean leaned back, shushing Castiel’s outcry with fingers on Castiel’s mouth. Cas stilled, and watched Dean move down to hover just above his flesh, mouth open.

He’s going to--

Castiel stilled. He watched Dean’s head lower, groaned when a puff of breath touched him there, and none of it prepared him for the shock of Dean’s tongue on him, wet and hot and writhing. Everything narrowed down to his lips closing over the head, that flex and squeeze--

And then he took more. Castiel held his hips very still, fighting the urge to go deeper. He grabbed Dean’s shoulder so he wouldn’t put his hands on Dean’s head and push down, but he wanted that. So much.

He called Dean’s name. That word, he could say. He shuddered and groaned and said please and Dean’s mouth on him went deeper, his tongue and lips and suctioned cheeks vibrated with a happy, humming groan just before he raised his head smiled right at Castiel, looking into his eyes.

“You can move a little. Don’t worry.”

And then he was back on him and Castiel held on for dear life, trying not to buck into Dean’s mouth, but Dean rode his hips and Castiel could roll, stick to a rhythm that helped his need to move. He squeezed Dean’s shoulder and tried to be quieter. He couldn’t stop each breath coming out vocal, or the rising feeling that he was going to--

“Dean, Dean stop I’m going to spend--”

But Dean just pushed Castiel’s hips into the couch cushions and sucked harder, bobbed faster, pressed hard against Castiel’s hips as Cas tried to fight and not do it in Dean’s mouth, but he lost.

Spectacularly.

Castiel couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, suspended in an eternity that pounded through his senses and set every muscle rigid and then dropped him gasping on the couch. Dean’s mouth sucked, swallowed, and Castiel was on fire. Everything was too intense, too sensitive, more than he could handle. He dragged Dean up, whispering “ _Stopstopstop_ ” until Dean came up and covered him with his arms wrapped around, tight and safe, gentle kisses scattered on Castiel’s jaw, cheeks, his eyelids.

Castiel caught Dean’s face and kissed his mouth.

Dean tried to keep his tongue away but Castiel insisted, opening Dean’s mouth the way he'd learned and tasted himself. Bitterness. Nothing like anything he’d ever eaten. But it didn’t matter. If Dean could taste it, so could he.

Dean groaned loudly. Castiel nearly stopped, but Dean held Castiel steady and kissed him, deep and open mouthed. Dean groaned again and unwound one arm from under Castiel’s shoulder. He reached down and his belt buckle clinked, followed by the shushing sound of an opening zipper.

Castiel tried to reach for him but Dean made a forbidding noise, still kissing him like Castiel was air and light and shelter. Everything seemed centered on that kiss. Dean broke free of his inner restraint and groaned every time Castiel’s tongue touched his.

Dean’s body shifted in a familiar rhythm. The muscles across his back rippled as his arm gripped and stroked, as he brought himself to spending, fast and urgent. His mouth never left Castiel’s, not even when he sucked in air and groaned, his body shuddering with release, his moans mixed with sighs of relief. He kissed Castiel until he relaxed, chuckled, and gave him a brief peck before leaning back for a tissue.

Castiel didn’t know what to say, what to ask. Dean must have really liked that kiss, though, and so Cas sat up and gave him another one.

Dean held Castiel the way he liked best - one arm around his waist, the other bracing his back, Dean’s fingers in his hair. He laughed softly, and rested his forehead against Castiel’s and sighed, “Thank you, Cas.”

“I should thank you.”

Dean squeezed him closer. “You did. Trust me.”

 


	22. Chorus

Dean woke up to Castiel running scales in the music room, and he hummed along while he zombied himself into the shower. He didn’t need an alarm to wake up any more. He had Castiel, who took his piano hours very seriously and started the moment the regulator clock in the music room struck six.

 As soon as Castiel began scales he had about an hour to get breakfast on the table. Castiel thought the juicer was too noisy when it was slowly mashing up the healthful fruit and vegetable mixes Dean drank every morning. But he was there to have his glass of juice right at 7 am, even if he did drink it as fast as possible in order to get rid of it.

 Dean enjoyed cooking, but he very much enjoyed cooking for Castiel, who began every breakfast with thanks to Dean for making it. He ate with curiosity and appreciation, held his own in quiet conversation about their coming day, confirming any plans they held in common.

 This morning Castiel accepted his glass of bright green juice and drank it in fast deep gulps. “Thank you, Dean. That one was not nearly as grassy as I had originally guessed by the colour,”

 Dean laughed and maybe spent a little too long on a morning kiss for a school day.

 He kissed Castiel after breakfast. He kissed Castiel at the door to send him off. Castiel would come home, find him, and kiss him hello.

 Dean  smiled to himself as he realized: he had a boyfriend. This wasn’t some complicated ambiguous thing he still feared to define at risk of losing it.

 It felt good.

*

Castiel did his best to maintain a pleasant expression, but he really wished he were back home with Dean.

 “And here we are once again,” Professor Balthazar announced. “Today we’re going to work on expanding range of left hand confidence through crossover keyboarding. I have selected music I believe will challenge your individual abilities. I’ll be coming around to plug in and advise. I suggest you record your work, as review will help you analyse your effectiveness.”

 Castiel sighed as quietly as he could and waited to see what his keyboarding skills instructor would inflict on him this time.  _Please don't let it be Bartok. Please don't let it be Bartok._

 It was Stravinsky. He'd heard it. He thought Stravinsky sounded like anxiety. But God had listened, and he set himself to reading the music while listening to a recording.

 [Gigue.](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Gigue/43CPX2?src=5) It was kind of neat, actually. The song danced, but it jerked and spun like a slightly grotesque compulsion. It was dramatic, staccato, and Cas figured it would lend to the flair Balthazar constantly wanted him to put into his gestures, the showmanship, the commitment that made Castiel look  _more like a musician and less like a plowhorse_ , unquote. That offended Castiel, but Balthazar had him watch concert performances and he learned.

 He ran it through and waited for Balthazar to come and pick on every tiny thing he did.

 *

 “A lot of essays back from last week’s question about ethical disclosure of witnessed abuse,” Professor Zachariah said. “Some of you had conflicts when answering this question, but I was especially struck by this passage.”

 Castiel took a deep, slow breath and tried to raise Sam on his iPad, just in case his ensemble flight was sitting around.

 “It seems you don’t know what to do when you witness abuse, Mr. Bauer.”

 “I don’t know what to do because every situation is different,” Castiel said. “There is no law, rule, or axiom that will guide me through every single case of me observing what I believe to be harmful behavior."

"So you hear a woman neighbor screaming in fear and, thumps and breaking glass, and you...don't call the police?"

"I’ve been reading about what goes on Outside. If I call the police to report a woman neighbor screaming in fear and thumps and breaking glass, the police might come in time to break it up. They might escalate the abuse she suffers later. She could get evicted for being a disruptive tenant. Would it really be for her benefit to call the police in that situation? Or would I be putting her in greater danger?”

“No one is ever abused in your theist utopia, I take it.”

“We live too closely together to maintain the kind of secrecy abuse takes, most of the time. But consider this: In the reading you gave us focusing on the male perspective about domestic violence, most of the men who had girlfriends and wives leave them because of abuse claimed that they had no control over their actions, that they were not responsible for the things that they had done.”

“Yes. What is your point?”

“Why did they stop, then?"

Professor Zachariah gave him a knowing look. it said, I'll play along. "Can you clairfy your question, please?"

"Why did all seven of those women survive the men who claimed that they had lost control when they hurt their partners?”

 “Since you’re asking me to guess,” Professor Zachariah said, “I’d guess that it was because they wouldn’t go that far.”

 “Precisely,” Castiel said. “They went as far as they believed they could dare.”

 Professor Zachariah bit back what he was going to say, and settled on, “An interesting supposition, Mr. Bauer.”

 Castiel went back to indexing his sheet music collection.

*

Maintaining a pleasant expression, Castiel walked past groups of upperclassmen who laughed and talked with each other. He didn’t greet anyone or nod to them, but scanned the crowd for a familiar face. He was gratified to see Jo, but he had honestly hoped he’d find Kevin first.

 Still, he had something to ask her. He walked up to her and pitched his voice low. "Jo. Why did you tell me to enter the piano competition?"

 Jo hugged him hello while answering. "Because you're that good, Cas. And you spend so much time accompanying people--"

 Castiel headed in the direction of the musical practice rooms. "That's what we're supposed to do, Jo. We're supposed to play music in small groups. Particularly piano students. But people are angry at me for entering the competition."

 "Your application was accepted," Jo pointed out. "They don't usually accept applications from first years. But they took yours. Because you're that good."

 "I'm learning a lot here. I still need to improve keyboard skills."

 "You need to improve the way everyone does, Cas." Jo said. "But seriously, you wouldn't have been accepted if you didn't. Balthazar is a bit of a demanding teacher--"

 "A bit."

 "Did he go after you today?"

 "A bit. He said I'd been coddled."

 "Coddled."

 "Apparently I stick with the familiar. He challenged me to work on a piece by Stravinsky. That it would help my attack."

 "What did you pick?"

 "Gigue."

 “Awesome,” Jo said, and led the way to a practice room. “You. Out.”

 The student fled.

 “How do you do that?”

 “I booked the room and I take revenge. Now sit, and tell me what’s going on.”

 Castiel sat on the piano bench. It was too high, and he fiddled with the lift. “It’s just … have you ever walked through the halls and seen a group of older students talking together, and then they all look at you, look at each other, and start laughing?”

 Jo inspected the horsehairs on her bow. “Did that happen to you today?”

“It’s been happening ever since the competition list was posted.”

“Oh Cas,” Jo said. “They’re trying to psych you out.”

“They think I reached too far above myself by entering,” Cas said. “Even though my application was accepted.”

“You should have said something.”

“And then what would happen?” Castiel asked. “The teachers would scold them?”

“ _We_  could have done something,” Jo said. “Put dead fish in their cars.”

Castiel laughed.

“But seriously, you didn’t have to take all that on yourself,” Jo said.

“I appreciate you siding with me, Jo. I wish there was something I could do for you.”

“When I think of something I’ll hold you to that,” Jo said.

*

Dean had made it home from his appointments and managed to shower the last bits of stickiness off his skin before Castiel opened the door.

“I’m home,” Castiel called, as he always did.

Dean tugged on a fresh shirt and tossed the waxy one in the hamper. He got down the stairs before Castiel had finished putting away his boots and coat. He brushed back Castiel’s hair, but before he kissed him hello, he asked, “Cas, are you okay?”

“School was very busy,” Cas said. “And Professor Balthazar is making me play Stravinsky.”

Castiel could play Stravinsky. He had the skill. He just resisted exposure to music that contrasted so sharply with his experience. “Well that’s not so bad. Which piece?”

“The Gigue from his septet.”

“Well, say hello to the 20th century, babe,” Dean gave him that kiss and Castiel wrapped tight arms around him. “Welcome home.”

 


	23. Stage direction

Dean hardly ever heard [Farewell](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Farewell/J4AB9?src=5) play on his phone. Cas didn’t do telephones, though he carried one.

He picked up his phone and put Cas on speaker. “Hey, Cas. You need a ride?”

“Dean, I have a rehearsal at Edlund Hall, and I can’t find my page-turner. Will you help me?”

Dean opened his mouth to say ‘Sure,’ but closed it again. “What kind of a rehearsal?”

“Lighting and sound check for the competition concert, so I won’t miss Ethics class. Which I have been missing due to performing obligations,” Castiel said.

“So it’s just technical crew and the competition?”

“It’s just technical crew,” Castiel said. “You know the music and my arrangement, but…it is on a stage, and it will be lit as if it’s a performance. Will that be a difficulty?”

“No one but technical crew will be there?”

“No one but crew. They say that it will take about fifteen minutes. Will you help me, Dean?”

Dean ignored his clammy hands and the tight band around his chest. “I will, Cas.”

*

He knew where Edlund Hall was. He’d been there a hundred times. He knew where he’d find a parking space that he could use with Castiel’s resident pass. He knew where the stage door was, and nodded to the pair of smokers huddled under a golf umbrella. He found the security guard minding the door and said, “I’m here to turn pages for Castiel Bauer.”

“You know your way to the stage?” The guard asked. She hadn’t even put down her magazine.

“I do.”

“Good,” she said, and Cosmopolitan shielded her face once more.

He did know the way. He’d been backstage here with Sammy. He’d performed on that stage himself for recitals. He’d been here for quartet.

He was going to be sick. He looked around for somewhere to do it, a wastepaper basket, something, anything—

“Hello Dean.”

Oh, no.

Cas stood there in one of Sam’s old V-neck sweaters, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearm. He reached out and took Dean’s hand turned it palm up, and traced light circles around the hollow. “Follow that,” he said. “Breathe through your nose, one, two, three, four. Breathe out.”

His finger turned to circle in the opposite direction, changing on a count of four. Castiel breathed in time to the count, and Dean joined him.

“Good,” he said. “The theater’s empty, Dean. There’s no one here.”

“The techs.”

“They’re all on a break. Will you walk with me?”

“Okay,” Dean said.

“You’re here with me,” Castiel said. “And we’re alone.” He walked Dean past the fly ropes, past the stage manager’s booth. It was empty.

They paused on the wings. The piano was right there, in a pool of light. Oh God, the lights.

Castiel picked up his hand again, tracing those circles. “Breathe with me,” he said, and Dean feel back into the rhythm. “Tell me what you feel.”

“I can’t go out there,” Dean said.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got you, Dean. You’re safe. The theater is empty. You don’t have to go onto the stage.”

“If I don’t go onto the stage you won’t love me,” Dean said.

“Can I love you here instead?”

Dean stopped breathing. He’d said it out loud. And then Cas said, he had to say something back. “I want you to be happy,” Dean said.

“I’m happy, Dean.”

He looked out at the stage again.“Sammy wants me to do it.”

“Sam can wait for you to be ready.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Let’s take one step backward.”

“No,” Dean said.

He took Castiel’s hand and stepped out. One, two. His shadow bloomed like petals, fanned upstage to the deep scarlet drop. He kept walking, leading Castiel to the piano bench.

He didn’t sit down. Castiel gazed at him with a quiet smile. He held Dean’s hand, warm and dry against Dean’s nervous damp.

“Let’s do it,” Dean said.

He thought he was going to die or puke or faint, but he got through it. He never missed a phrase, turning the paper pages for Castiel exactly on cue. The moment Castiel put his hands in his lap, he was up and walking the quick strides off the stage. He would never eat again for the rest of his life.

But he did it.

He had to keep walking until he couldn’t see the stage any more. He turned the corner and leaned against the wall, dragging in huge gasps of air. He was going to have a heart attack. He’d done it. He was going to die.

Dean unclenched his left palm and traced circles on it. One, two, three, four, and back. He saw Cas in front of him, breathing in time to the circles. He didn’t reach for him, didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything but breathe with him.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Let’s go home.”

They were quiet on the drive. The music player started up, but Dean cut off “[Moonlight Drive](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Moonlight+Drive/9QHAj?src=5)” before the first piano phrase completed. Castiel didn’t protest, sitting quietly on Baby’s passenger side.

Baby was safe. Dean let the vibrations of the car soothe through him. He turned away from the usual route back to the house and turned the music back on, taking the long way. Just cruising, giving himself a little time. Castiel didn’t ask where they were going or point out that it was the wrong way.

He was along for the ride, and that settled Dean’s middle a bit more.

They drove the looping drive along the lake shore, where the moon glittered over the fractured water and back towards home. Dean felt like maybe he could eat again in another year.

Once he settled down.

He rolled Baby up to her place on the curb, cut the engine, and reached for Castiel’s hand. Castiel traced that circle and Dean breathed with it. Breathed with Castiel.

“I started being afraid of going onstage because Dad would get drunk while we were performing,” Dean said. “I could keep him from drinking if I was right there, but I couldn’t if he got out of my sight. He came home from gigs drunk. He guzzled cheap wine from the auditorium bar service. I got my learner’s permit at fourteen so I could make sure we got home.”

Castiel kept circling that finger, breathing. Dean caught the breath, in, out. His stomach still quivered.

“But if I couldn’t go onstage, he couldn’t leave. Or so I thought. He didn’t care,” Dean said. “He’d leave me in the wings. After a while, he — he seemed to forget that I could play an instrument. He only saw Sam. I quit playing onstage and Dad didn’t love me any more.”

“Oh, Dean.”

“So I tried to go back,” Dean said. “I tried to get back on the stage and play with Sam and I couldn’t.” Dean’s voice cracked and he swallowed. “I started to pretend I was afraid, and then I was afraid for real.”

“What will happen, when you’re out there?”

“I won’t play right. I’ll make mistakes. People won’t like me. They’ll want me to go away. I’ll be alone.”

“I’m here,” Castiel said. “You’re not alone.”

“I want to be there. I dream of being there. With you. And Sam.”

“I want you with me,” Castiel said. “There or anywhere.”

They took off their shoes and coats in the dark. Castiel slipped into the kitchen and put the kettle on, took out the canister with dried peppermint leaves in it.

Dean leaned against the range island and snagged Castiel close. He stood Cas between his spread feet, wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist, and stuck his nose in the shorter man’s neck.

“You smell good,” Dean said.

“I better, it’s your bodywash.”

“Is it?” Dean sniffed again. “It is. So, we smell good.”

“Dean,” Cas said. No more than that, his hands stroking Dean’s back.

He could stand here forever. But there was one more thing. He leaned away from Castiel’s arms, backed off so he could see his face. Cas's eyes looked blue even in the dim lights that glowed from under the cupboards.

“You said—when I said you wouldn’t love me if I didn’t go on the stage—”

“I will still love you if you don’t,” Castiel said.

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

“Why?”

Castiel’s face tensed and hurt. “Because you’re wonderful, Dean. Because you make my heart glad when I’m near you. Because you let me in, and I see you.”

“You do.” Castiel had seen him. Not just friendly, not just flirty, not just cuddly. He’d seen Dean insecure. Scared to death. Angry and hurt. He’d seen Dean and still he could say that.

“You’re breathing with me. Did you know?”

He was.

“It feels better.”

“Good.”

“Cas?”

“Dean.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, and kissed him.

****  
  
  
  
  



	24. Appassionato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Cas only meant to kiss Dean once, just to say thank you back, to show him he knew what Dean meant: Thank you for being there. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for loving me. Then he’d make Dean drink peppermint tea with ginger root and honey, for the sake of his nervous stomach.

But somehow that kiss got away from him. Soon his mouth was open for Dean’s tongue and he was pressed tight against him and Dean had double handfuls of his buttocks, squeezing, pulling him closer yet. Cas clung to Dean’s shoulders and rode the dizzy rush that took him, grinding against the collision of their belt buckles and the thick layers of denim and zippers. Reason flew out the window. All he wanted was to—

The kettle whistled.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered.

Cas backed up to unplug it, but Dean got there first. He steered Cas to a wall, kissing along the sensitive cords of his throat.

“I tidied the AV room,” Cas said.

“I know,” Dean kissed him, again, again. “Will you come into my bedroom, Cas?”

“Will you tie me?”

“Oh I want to,” Dean said, and cut off Cas’s response with another kiss.

“Tie my hands,” Cas said.

“Are you ready for that?”

“Yes.”

“And what else,” Dean reached under Cas’s sweater, pulled it up.

Cas raised his arms and let Dean take it off. “Everything.”

“Not yet,” Dean said, and walked them back around to the stairs. “But I’ve got an idea.”

***

Dean opened the door to his bedroom, and pale silver light spilled on the bed. Cas waited until Dean led him across the threshold to walk in, but once inside he wound his arms around Dean and kissed him. Dean was only too happy to drag his fingers over Cas’s skin and kiss back, demanding and hot. He coaxed Cas’s mouth open and Cas dragged Dean closer, caught their belt buckles together when he tried to rub his flesh against Dean’s, hard and too far away for what he craved.

“Cas,” Dean kissed him right under the corner of his jaw, light feathery kisses over his ear. “I’d like you naked. May I undress you?”

“Yes, Dean. Will you let me undress you?”

“Not this time, Cas. But I will undress myself, how’s that?”

He had to kiss Dean again. Had to. “Why can’t I undress you?”

“Because I’d also like to tie your hands to my bed.” Dean caught one of his wrists and circled it with his fingers. “And then undress. All right?”

“Yes,” Cas said.

“Good.” Dean said, and reached for Cas’s belt buckle.

***

Cas expected to sink into the bed like the marshmallow softness of the bed in his room. But it was firm, supportive. The sheets under his back were cotton, but so smooth he had to fight the urge to stroke them. The folded blanket under his calves puffed with feathers.

He could see the moon, barely  in the skylight window. He knew the moonlight touched him, setting silver lights over his skin. Dean stared at him like he was committing Cas to memory, sprawled naked over his perfect white and gray bed.

“You look… Cas.”

He got down on one knee and the sound of a drawer sliding met a soft thump. Dean sat on the side of the bed, still dressed, and leaned down to kiss him.

Cas tried to pull him down, already starving for his touch, but Dean sat up again. “Will you still let me tie your hands?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to tie you in a way that you can get out of, if you want to. Small steps,” Dean said.

“Small steps,” Cas agreed, and tried to watch as Dean hitched the rope around a bedpost. The rope smelled like hemp, but the line Dean wrapped around Cas’s right wrist was soft and flexible, snug around his wrist, but not too tight. Supportive. That was how it felt.

Dean guided his hand to the knot resting on his palm and showed him how to untie himself. “What’s your safeword?”

“Knitting Needle.”

“Are you calling it out?”

“Dean, please tie my other hand.”

He did, but not before kissing him fiercely.

Cas tested the ropes. He could move, and he could strain against them, but knowing he could undo the knots himself helped. It felt secure and safe; comforting. He pulled on the rope, and Dean watched him test his movement with an avid focus.

“Why are you struggling, Cas?”

“To feel it,” Cas said.

Dean crossed his hands at the hem and took off his shirts, both layers at once.

“You have no hair on your chest,” Cas said.

“Yeah, about that,” Dean said, and undid his belt.

Cas watched. Dean would always leave his clothes on. Cas went shirtless. Cas wound up with his trousers undone and his flesh in Dean’s hand, Cas who spent while Dean restrained himself more surely than any rope. He watched Dean undress in the soft silver light and watched him bend down to pull the legs of his jeans off, hardly daring to blink as Dean stood up.

*

Dean let Cas see him. He’d always kept his clothes on, trying to keep them from moving too fast.  He tried to let all the hair grow back, but he hated the feeling and set himself proper after a couple of days of furious itching.

Cas took his time looking. Dean stayed where he was. He still felt nervous, but Cas’s eyes tracked over his body with greed.

“You have no hair.”

“I get rid of it,” Dean said, and braced himself for the reaction.

“How does it feel?”

“Like this.”

He stretched out beside Cas and molded to his side. Cas turned his head, reached for Dean, pulled on the ropes around his wrists. Those ropes. Dean reached up to touch them.

Cas struggled so he could feel it. Dean met Cas’s mouth for a kiss, drank in every tug and squirm. He was going to make it good.

Every shift of bare skin under him threatened to pull Dean under. He had to handle this. It’s about Cas. Now make it good.

Cas arched and moaned, pushing his nipple into Dean’s mouth. He loved feeling the bed tremble under Cas’s struggles. Loved the wafting scent of hemp mixed with the clean wood and spice scent on Cas’s skin. Loved the heaving gasp and quiver of Cas’s abs under his tongue, and the lost moan he gave the moment he realized where Dean was going.

He’d waited a long time for this.

He was going overboard.

Cas loved him.

He was going to make this so good.

“Please do that,” Cas gasped. He fought the ropes hard, muscles tense and flexed under Dean’s lips and tongue. He knew very well what Cas meant, but raised his head to watch Cas.

“Please do what?”

“Put your mouth there. Kiss...oh, I’ll spend, but please, your tongue…” Cas yanked on the ropes. He panted.

His tongue? Dean dragged the tip of his tongue over Cas’s shaft. Cas stopped struggling. He let out a broken groan and pushed his hips up. Dean felt stoned. His head hummed with waves of tingling pleasure. Every gasp and flex from Cas made him want more. He wanted every sound Cas could make. He wanted every plea, every whimper.

Dean knew he should hold back but he licked up, pulled Cas’s foreskin down, and rolled his tongue on those two bumps that met just at the underside, curled his tongue around like Cas was ice cream in July and popped his head up when Cas jerked in shock, and didn’t give him time to do anything but yelp before covering the whole tip and sucking.

Cas called his name, over and over. He tugged at the ropes frantically. He begged Dean, louder and more urgent. Dean was going to end this too fast if he didn’t pull up and give him a minute.

He pulled himself back up to kiss Cas, who twisted under him to rub their cocks together. He fought the rope and writhed under him and protested when Dean rose up on his knees.

“Shh,” Dean soothed. “I’m coming right back.”

Cas’s eyes swiveled toward the noise of Dean’s bedside table drawer opening, then tracked the tub in his hand.

“It’s lube,” Dean said and Cas nodded. Vigorously. Dean dipped his fingers and came back with a generous scoop, smoothing some on his belly and some on Cas’s. Cas gave a glad little noise when Dean settled back over him, letting Cas take his weight.

They were skipping a couple of steps, but Cas moved with an eel’s fluidity, rolling his hips and Dean was going too far but he needed to be with Cas, needed Cas’s struggles and those gorgeous squirming hips.

Everything narrowed down to this: Cas, writhing under him, and those sounds, the smothered whimpers as he locked his mouth on Dean’s and tugged on the ropes. Cas’s fingers flexed and grabbed at the air. It was sublime. Cas didn’t know what shame was when he was bound. Dean loved how ropes took away Cas’s mannered restraint and set him free.

Dean got lost in the slick press of their bodies, in holding Cas’s head exactly how he wanted it, in kiss after kiss. He got a sweet rush from Cas saying his name like it was a prayer, the frantic, off kilter thrust of Cas’s hips, the whimpers Dean realized came from himself. He lifted his head and bit down on his lip, obeyed the tight clench of his belly, and let Cas see him--open-mouthed around loud grunting moans, eyes shut tight, four heartbeats of gorgeous distress before his elbows buckled and made him fall against Cas’s shoulder.

He opened his eyes to Cas looking at him with adoration. That look was every soft embrace, every whispered assurance, every soft and fuzzy caress Dean had ever given Cas when Dean gently put Cas together after taking him apart. Oh, he’d gone too far. But Cas was with him.

“That was beautiful.”

Oh, it was.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, and Cas smiled up at him. “You’re awesome.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmured. “I would like to sleep in this bed with you. May I?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t let Cas go to his own bed. “I want you to sleep with me.”

*

Dean got Cas and himself cleaned up. He untied Cas’s wrists and kissed every red ligature, soft and reverent over the imprints of twisted hemp line. They burrowed under the bedding and fit together in a tangle of arms and legs and breathed together, exchanging sleepy nuzzling kisses. Dean was way out of bounds, the line so far behind him he wouldn’t be able to see it. But Cas was with him. He didn’t look back.

 


	25. Competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Quick Note: Yes I changed the names. When I wrote the first of these ficlets - Expectation, in case you're wondering - I was just grabbing names out of the air because I didn't know that I was going to be writing such a long story. I made the decision to swap out Gabriel's name for Inias because Inias wasn't being very gabriel-like. And because I'm so far ahead of what i've got here I forgot that i had to mention it. So yes. you haven't gone mad. I changed the names.)

Castiel waited in the wings while Ellen Harvelle welcomed everyone to the last day of competition. He drank water while a third year student played Hungarian Dance No. 5 and stood apart from the other two students waiting to play their ten minute segment. He recognized the woman with a short blonde haircut and deep red lipstick. She kept glancing at him, looking away, and smiling. It was as if she were flirting, but there was something cruel about her smile that kept him from trying to talk to her. He read the chat on his iPad and waited for Sam to come back.

 **Yo** , Sam finally said.  **You getting ready to break a leg?**

  _All my fingers. I’m second last to play._

**So you have until :30 to just sit around. How are you feeling?**

_Thirsty._

**But so far okay?**

_Impatient. Perhaps I should seek revelation._

**Did Dean go to help you last night?**

Castiel didn’t want to tell Sam what had happened on the stage last night, much less what happened after, or why he only got 20 minutes of piano practice in this morning. He settled for  _It was too much too soon, but he did it anyway._

**He’s okay?**

_He’s okay. He talked to me. I didn’t tell him that it was your idea. Or that we conspired._

**Thanks, Cas. I just don’t know what to do.**

Applause smattered and gained solidity. The first competitor bowed and walked toward him, waiting at stage right. Castiel smiled and said “congratulations.” The man smiled vaguely at him before disappearing down the hall.

He smiled encouragingly at the woman with short blonde hair -  _Margaret_ _,_  he remembered.  _Her name is Margaret._  She tossed him a smile that Castiel thought rather smug before walking out and taking her place at the piano.

Cas bent his head to chat to Sam.  _One performance left,_  he typed.

And then he realized that the belling single note introduction to the Danse Macabre wasn’t playing in his head. He turned and looked at the stage, where Margaret trilled the anxious glissando to the top of the board.

She was playing his song.

He looked back at the other competitor, who covered his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

She was playing his song. Well not exactly his, but the Lizst-Horowitz arrangement, the one that he wanted to coax the judges past. She’d made that impossible. He couldn’t go out there and play the same thing.

Why would she do this?

He was the only first year piano student in the competition. That was why. And he knew what he had to do.

He called up the music for [Sonata 8 in A Minor](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Sonata+No+8+In+A+Minor+K+310+I+Allegro+Maestoso/4NPEjM?src=5), and got to reading. He only had a few minutes.

*

Dean wanted to punch something. He had to sit still and listen to this…bitch, Margaret Masters, play Castiel’s song. People around him fluttered in uncertainty, checking and re-checking programs. Someone behind him wondered if there was a printing error.

But Dean knew. Margaret Masters had sacrificed her place in the competition to make sure Castiel was properly humiliated for aiming too high for a first year. He’d forgotten about the downright nasty shit musicians could get up to.

No. Honestly he’d never suspected this. He’d only lasted part of his first year of cello studies before it was clear that he couldn’t handle the “performance” part of his grading. He hadn’t known what kind of backhanded shit competitors could get up to, because he tried to hide in the herd of the orchestra.

She played it well. She had to have planned this in secret. Who was she throwing the game for? It was the last day of competition, and he hadn’t come to hear anyone else. Maybe just the chance to crush an opponent was enough.

Oh Cas. Dean started wondering what he could do to help him. He’d need help. He wished he could go backstage and … just be there. He wasn’t even sure what he could do.

Margaret Masters accepted her applause with a bow, and walked off. Her right arm came up as if she were about to high five someone in the wings.

Then Castiel walked onto the stage, and Dean leaned forward in his seat. He looked…well, determined. He wore his new charcoal three piece suit and a deep burgundy tie. Dean had tied it for him just that morning in his [special triangular knot](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/95/bc/4e/95bc4ef87881173aae09c746aeff9905.jpg).

Castiel unbuttoned his coat and sat down. He adjusted his seat to the correct height, and then he put his hands in his lap. But Castiel didn’t look at the music. He turned his face up, facing the light, eyes closed.

Dean had seen that before. Castiel did that when he prayed.

Dean would have too, in his shoes. He watched Castiel smile, nod, and poise his hands over the keys.

They came down in the trilling, embellished notes of Piano Sonata No. 8 in A minor, by Mozart, and Dean grinned.

Castiel was playing Margaret’s song.

Dean could tell by the way he looked at the iPad that he was reading by sight and hearing memory, playing it cold. He brought complete concentration to reading the music. Dean knew he was sight reading, guessed that the judges knew, and supposed that the audience was relieved that it was just a printing error in the program.

Castiel Bauer had answered Margaret Masters’ challenge with the most brilliant response possible. He preserved the school’s reputation and gave her the finger at the same time. If he wasn’t quite up to par, well. The program said that he was a first year piano student. The audience would love him as the plucky underdog.

Dean put his hands together at the end of the movement, then swiveled his head at a bunch of whistles and cheers.

He recognized Jo and Kevin, and realized that Castiel’s ensemble flight had come to cheer him on. They knew what Margaret had done, and they approved of Castiel’s choice. They applauded and made sure Castiel knew they were there.

Castiel blinked in surprise, but smiled for his raucous support before walking off the stage.

*

Castiel looked neither left nor right as he walked through the backstage corridors. He made his way through backstage to the front of the house, and stopped.

His family was there. Most of his extended family was there, all shining smiles, even if Inias’s smile was brave and Anna’s was sharp. They stood next to each other, but Anna kept her body turned away, arms folded before her.

He hugged the littlest first, and worked his way up. Anna gave him a perfunctory embrace and no kiss at all, and Inias held on for just a second longer than he normally would.

Over Inias’s shoulder he saw Dean. He stood at back of the crowd, out of earshot but in sight. He gave Castiel a smile and backed up a step, leaving him to family.

But then his mother was there and he held her tight.

“Castiel that was wonderful,” Naomi Bauer wrapped her arms around her son and squeezed. “We are so proud of you. The light shone through you when you played that song.”

“Thank you, Mother. It means a lot. I’m glad you all came to hear me play.”

“Of course we did! And you look handsome in your Outside clothes, dear, but aren’t those slacks a little immodest? They’re cut so close.”

“Fashion Outside is different, mother. I’m judged on my appearance.”

“You still look handsome, Castiel.” Naomi squeezed her son’s shoulders. “I won’t take more than a moment. Anna needs you.”

Castiel had known it was coming, but his heart still sank. “I have to talk to you, Mother.”

“I can wait. Anna’s been moody and upset lately. She deserves comfort from you.”

“Mother,” Castiel said. “Please hear me. Anna has been upset because I told her that I couldn’t marry her.”

Naomi looked at him, frowned, and swept dust off the sleeve of his coat. “But we settled that last year.”

“Didn’t you know Inias loves her?”

“Inias doesn’t need settling the way you do, Castiel,” Naomi set his shirt collar straight. “Anna was to be your foundation once you brought the music back with you.”

“Mother, I can’t marry her,” Castiel said. “I love someone else.”

“Someone Outside? Oh, Castiel.” His mother stroked Cas’s cheek. “She won’t settle your wild heart. You need a solid home, land to enrich you.”

“Mother,” Castiel said, softly now. “You’ve met him already.”

“The man you live with,” Naomi said, and took her hands away. “We’ll be here for you regardless. I just wish you didn’t need to hurt yourself like this.”

“Mother,” Castiel said. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It will,” Naomi said. “And we will be your home still.”

“Please come and meet him,” Castiel said. Naomi resisted his guiding.

“Castiel, don’t ask me,” his mother said. “Not today. I have to see to Anna. She was going to be my daughter.” She looked over Castiel’s shoulder, and then looked back, eyes bright. “Did you tell her about Inias?”

“Yes.”

She sighed and put her hands on him again, adjusting his lapels. “Oh, Castiel. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“It wasn’t to hand her off. Inias wouldn’t tell her.”

“Inias has more sense than that,” his mother said.

“She had the right to know.”

“You put an extra burden on her, Castiel. I know you meant well.” She patted his shoulder. “You didn’t want her to be alone. But she wasn’t ready to hear it.”

“I didn’t know the right thing to do.”

“You tried your best. Now are you going to celebrate the Outside holidays?”

“Dean does.”

Naomi looked thoughtful. “Bring him for the Watch.”

“His brother Sam will be home for Christmas too,” Castiel said. “I’ll come to the Watch.”

He kissed his mother’s cheeks and started the two dozen goodbye wishes, hugs, and kisses. He had to find Dean.

 


	26. Dolore

Dean could have at least tried to go backstage.

He watched as the pack of distinctively dressed men, women, and children gathered by the door that actually led backstage, ready to be the first people to greet Castiel as he stepped out.

And sure enough, they mobbed him. Dean noticed Anna pointedly ignoring Inias and the millisecond long hug she gave Castiel.  _Well, looks like she wasn’t thrilled to find out about the other brother_ _._  Not that Dean blamed her, of course.

He stood back, caught Castiel’s eye, smiled at him, and leaned against a wall to wait. Castiel hugged his mother, her hair braided in a crown around her head. They talked for a bit, and Dean watched as Cas’s mother stopped fussing with his hair and his tie, took her hands off him entirely.

Now was that because Castiel had just told her about him? Dean suspected that it was. He hurt for Cas. He imagined what it would have been like for him if his father was still alive.

Then Naomi Bauer put fussing, neatening hands on Castiel again, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been a total rejection, whatever it was. Castiel went through the rounds of hugging and kissing everyone, and Dean waited patiently. His right knee hardly bounced at all.

Soon enough Castiel walked toward him and Dean came off the wall to meet him in a big hug. Castiel hung on and sank into Dean’s shoulder.

“I won’t win the competition,” Castiel said.

“Oh, babe,” Dean said. “I should have gone backstage.”

“I don’t think I can smile any more, Dean. Please get me out of here.”

*

They barely made it.

Dean kept his arm firmly around Castiel’s shoulders, Castiel clung to his waist and kept his head down and averted. They walked briskly out of the lobby of Edlund Hall and into a bitter damp and windy parking lot. Dean steered them into the wind towards the Impala and got Cas in the passenger side first.

Castiel had leaned over to pull up the driver’s side door lock and then Dean was twisted around holding a sobbing Castiel in his arms, a Castiel who wept with great shaking gasps and tattered breaths.

Dean just wanted to find Margaret and… he didn’t know. Something bad. But she was going to catch hell from Aunt Ellen; anything he could do would be an afterthought. Castiel needed him.

He held Cas. He stroked his hair. He hummed a son[g](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDdI7GhZSQA) his mother used to sing to him when he was really little and somehow it didn’t get caught in his throat when the words came. He sang quietly and rubbed Castiel’s shuddering back and when Cas wound down to hitching stuttered breaths Dean was at the bridge and just kept on singing the rest.

Dean held Castiel in Baby’s chilly front seat and watched a snowflake land on the windshield, then another. Cas shifted around to dig into a pocket and produced a handkerchief, an actual hand stitched square of cotton fabric, and let the cold rush in on Dean’s right side as he sat up.

After a long pause, Cas said, “Thank you. I’m ready to go home now.”

“Okay, Cas. Anything you want.”

Dean started the car and the arpeggiated chords of [Sweet Child of Mine](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Sweet+Child+Of+Mine/qEsUJ?src=5) blasted through the stereo.

“Whoa!” Dean said, and moved to turn it off.

Castiel touched Dean’s wrist. “Leave it.”

“Okay.” He pulled out of the parking lot and asked, “Do you want me to make you some ice cream?”

“No, thank you,” Castiel said. He was quiet, a little flat. “But I think I would like something hot to drink.”

“Hot mulled cider?”

“Yes, please.”

“Anything you want, Cas, if I can get it.”

“I want to be warm and safe,” Castiel said. “And I want to listen to Rock and Roll, please.”

“Who in particular?”

“Jimi Hendrix.”

“Coming up after your Guns n’ Roses.”

*

Castiel was bobbing his head to Purple Haze by the time Dean parked his car in the garage at the back of the house. They tromped across the back yard through snow that was already an inch deep and let themselves in through the french doors to the music room.

“We’re in for a foot of this at least.” Dean knocked snow off his boot, took it off, and then put one foot in the house while he took off the other.

“Sam’s coming in the morning,” Castiel said. “Will you have to fetch him?”

“He always takes a cab. Trust me Cas, airports are the biggest pain in the ass, and it’s easier to cope with them if you can just get straight into a taxi when you’re done.” Dean said. “But I’ll have to go out in the morning. Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

“Please. I don’t think I can be alone for a bit,” Cas said.

Dean led Castiel into the kitchen, sat him down with a cup of water, and set to mixing herbs and spices in a mulling bag, chips of cinnamon, allspice, dried ginger, currants, green cardamom pods, vanilla bean, and a single star anise. He turned the apple cider up higher than he normally would, and stood behind Castiel and wrapped his arms around him, leaning over his back.

“I don’t understand why she did that,” Castiel said. “I don’t understand why what I was doing mattered to her so much that she had to destroy it. I wasn’t going to win the competition. There were three other people who were better than me.”

“You were the only first year in it,” Dean said. “People get jealous over stupid things.”

“I told Mother about you,” Castiel said. “Inias and Anna hadn’t told her.”

“I guessed that you did,” Dean rubbed Castiel’s tense stomach. What happened?”

“She’s disappointed that I’m not following the path she set out for me. I guess that she wanted me settled more than she wanted Inias happy.”

“Cas. That’s cold.”

“Being on the council means making hard decisions, and she was only trying to do what she thought was best. Besides, she is already trying to accept my choices. She invited you to the Watch.”

“What’s that?”

“The longest night of the year,” Castiel said. “It’s one of our celebrations. I told her that your brother would be here by then.”

“Sammy can entertain himself for one night, Cas.”

“No. I told her so she’d know how many of your family you would potentially bring with you. An invitation to you is an invitation to your family. Sam can come if he wants to.”

“Well then I’ll ask him,” Dean said. “But I’m going to be there.”

 

*

When the cider was ready Dean took Castiel into the AV room and had Cas sit in front of him. Dean drew the fuzziest of fuzzy blankets around them and let Valleys of Neptune play quietly. Castiel curled his hands around a mug and listened to Jimi Hendrix play music that was far from classical.

“I’m glad I don’t have to go to school on Monday,” Castiel said.

Dean rubbed Castiel’s shoulders, kneading out the tension Castiel carried in his traps. “Sammy will be here in the morning. We’re gonna get snowed in, and we’ll play music and put up the Christmas decorations and make good things to eat.”

“I feel like I don’t--”

“I know. But it wasn’t the music that did this to you, Castiel. She did this to drive you off.”

Castiel gave a bitter laugh. “I think it’s working.”

Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey. Sam and me, we don’t want to drive you off, right? We want to play with you. And your ensemble, they were there and they cheered for you. They knew what Masters had done, and they saw how you handled it, and you handled it great, Cas.”

“I had to sightread on a stage. People expected me to be prepared.”

“You did good though. You could add Mozart to the list of composers you play. It suits you.”

“I won’t win.”

“No, but you said you didn’t expect that.”

“You’re right. I just wanted to show the judges what I could do,” Cas sighed and drank the last of his hot cider.

“You showed them. You were grace under pressure. I don’t think you get what a hot move you pulled on that stage.”

Castiel tried to look at Dean, leaning into the couch to get a better angle. “Was it?”

“It was ballsy. You could have played something you knew in your sleep, but instead you went out there and made it look like a printing error in the program.”

“I couldn’t have done anything else.”

“That’s all you, Cas. I don’t know what I would have done if someone had pulled a dick move like that on me.” Dean kissed Castiel’s head. “I’m sure that you’re going to have a lot of people on your side when you go back.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. “Can we go to bed now?”

“Yes. To sleep?”

“Maybe not right away,” Castiel said. “I still need to feel safe.”

“Anything you want, Cas.”

*

With the ropes, Dean could touch him everywhere at once. Every line was Dean, holding him together. The flat knot that rested just above his heart, centered on his breastbone was in the shape of a figure 8. Each knot was a kiss. The lines wrapped around his body were Dean’s arms around him. The hitches that held his arms tucked down the sides of his body were Dean’s steadying fingers. It was all Dean, holding him together. Making him safe.

No one had ever wanted to hurt Cas like that. What had he done? Outsiders were quicker to hurt people, he knew that. But it mattered less when he was safe and warm.

Dean’s room held chilly spots. He’d shivered while Dean had carefully bound his body, but Dean lifted him and put him to bed, and covered him with heavy feather quilts.

The weight of the blankets and the ropes kept Castiel from floating away. The bed was a mile in the air and Castiel’s body stopped feeling like a distant shore. Dean slipped into bed beside him and traced his fingers over the lines. He filled in skin and muscle and bone with massaging fingers, kissed blood and nerve into being.

Slowly, gently, Castiel came back.

“There you are,” Dean said. “Hi.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean smiled and said, “it’s been an hour. Ready to get loose?”

“Only because I want to touch you.”

“You like the ropes,” Dean said, gently prising the knots apart.

“They feel good.”

“You’re good in them,” Dean said. “You are so good, Cas.”

The praise fuzzed all over Cas’s skin.

“Do you want to talk, Cas?”

Castiel curled up for a kiss. “I can, if you wanted to ask me something.”

“Do you know why you like this?”

“I think I might,” Castiel said. “Can I tell you?”

“Yes.”

“I know about sex,” Castiel said. “We learn the functions and the dry medical stuff. How babies are made, that sort of thing.”

“Biology isn’t what you believe about sex, though.”

“We’re not taught that it’s bad or a sin to have sex, or that it’s base.”

“Then...what?”

Castiel’s arms ached. The blood was coming back to the places squeezed by the ropes.

He liked it. “We’re taught that sex is a powerful force that can interfere with reason and prudence.”

“True.”

“There’s no guilt or shame around needing to release sexual feelings through self-satisfaction. It’s a bodily need, like hunger or thirst, sleep or elimination. You do it to maintain control over yourself.”

Dean guided Cas to sit up and unwound the line that wrapped around Castiel’s torso. The rope left marks around his body, and blood rushed to fill them.

Dean’s smile was warm, proud. “The ropes take that need to control yourself away.”

“And it frees me,” Castiel said. “You take control for me. You are careful, Dean, and because you’re careful, I can let go. I would have never felt this without you.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I can,” Castiel said. “I would have married Anna, as my mother wished, and I would have respectfully, reverently, and mindfully made love to her, and had children with her, just as I had been taught. I would have never realized that I could feel like this.”

“Cas.”

“It’s because of you, Dean. All this. It awes me.”

“Wow,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Castiel agreed.

 


	27. Suspension

“Hello!”

Cas barely heard it. He was practicing his sonata, and the music room was an extension on the back of the house. If the doors had been closed, he wouldn’t have heard the call at all.

“Dean?” He called, already on his way out to meet him. “Do you need help with the groceries?”

But the huge man stripping out of luggage, scarf, and winter parka wasn’t Dean. Castiel knew him from pictures, though, so he reached out for Sam Winchester’s scarf and coat. He put them away in the closet.

“Hey,” he said, and slipped a snowy beanie off his head. Shoulder length chestnut hair fell to either side of his face. “Cas, hey.”

“Sam,” Castiel said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He smiled at the man who spread giant arms wide and gave him a hug. A nice enveloping hug with back slapping, but then he stepped back and looked down.

“Sorry! I feel like I know you already, just from chatting to you and hearing ‘Cas this,’ and ‘Cas that’ from Dean.”

“Don’t worry about it, I am a hugger. And Dean talks about you too. Now what is your surprise? Not your solo in the January concert.”

“Never mind that.  _Rolling Stone!_ ” He took an issue out of his parka pocket and unrolled it. “Sure, it’s one line of  a quarter of page 108, but not even Grandma made  _Rolling Stone._ ”

“That’s excellent, Sam. Have you eaten?”

“That’s right, Dean lets you cook in his kitchen.”

“I had to prove that I had proper training,” Castiel said. “There’s a soup in the crock pot. But I haven’t finished the bread. You’ll have to use crackers.”

“I think I’ll live,” Sam laughed. Castiel admired his presence. Heads would turn when he walked into a room, just because of the light that radiated from him, the easy joviality that made Castiel laugh too.

*

Sam and Castiel shared bowls of vegetable barley soup, and some garlic croutons Dean must have made with the last of the bread. Sam did seem to know a lot about him. Dean had told him that Castiel had been born in the commune that was now in its fourth generation, and understood that while they lived simply, they weren’t what people expected.

“So you’re all, like, descended from Hippies who found God.”

“Strictly speaking, we’re a cult.”

“Wow. Just lay it out there, Cas.”

“A cult is a small religious sect,” Castiel explained. “The other bits about the harmful practices of a narcissistic leader don’t apply.”

“Okay. So, you learned music by learning to read music. And you have electricity, and old records.”

“Right. Our father taught us about music.”

“What are you working on?”

“Sonata 3 for violin and keyboard.”

Sam got up and shoved their dishes in the machine. “Good. Let's run it through," Sam said, and headed for the music room. "I've been hogging the practice rooms learning it since Dean brought it up."

He did? Cas looked at Sam’s back. He was tall, and had wide enough shoulders that he probably could use a practice room when he wanted. Though that didn’t explain why Jo could terrify students out of practice rooms. "Dean's out, though."

"You were playing your part alone, weren't you?" Sam opened a cupboard and produced a dusty violin and bow case. He tightened the bow, rosined it, and started tightening the strings. He held the violin to his chest and plucked, making terrible faces at the flat strings, and kept tightening until he was satisfied.

"You have a point. Would you like an E?"

"One sec." Sam made a picky little adjustment to his bow. "G, please."

Cas played, and held it down.

Sam tuned the G, moved on to the D, and tuned against Cas' piano and the previous string, held down by a perfect fifth. He tuned up a stored bow quickly and made it look easy, and then tried an arpeggio and a scale. His bow slid as his fingers flew down the neck and back up. "I'll be happy when my good violin is warmed up, but this old one's still all right."

"Would you like a moment? Actually, you have to take one, I have to check the bread."

"Sure, go for it,” Sam said, and followed.

Castiel lifted the cover off the bowl and poked two fingers in the dough. It was indeed ready. He turned the dough out onto the oiled counter and turned it, pressed it out flat with rocking hands.

Sam played a song that bounced like a [Celtic dancing tune](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Celtic+Fiddle+Fest/8IMU7?src=5). Castiel had to stop his foot from tapping, but his chin bobbed. He knew this music. Inias played it, when the work was done or on Sundays, to celebrate the revelation each had been given in contemplation. He kneaded to the beat, and smiled to listen to the tempo and the pretty notes that leaned up against each other. It made the kneading go quickly.

Castiel remembered dancing to this music, picking the beans and tomatoes as one of the colony walked through the rows to bring each a moment for a tune and a drink of water, remembered listening to young Benjamin trying his first arpeggios, and here was Sam Winchester on a concert violin, playing the music of his commune.

Castiel finally let go and let his foot tap the beat as he rolled out long strips of dough, tying them into simple knots. He brushed each knot with oil and laid them on baking sheets, covered them, and let his steps to the sink be a chassé as he washed his hands.

"You know folk music," he said, as Sam let the last chord shine.

"Best I could do on this. The bridge arches too high."

"Did you play that for me?"

"Yeah. I thought you'd like it." Sam said. “Cas, Dean told me where you came from. But maybe I shouldn’t have assumed you’d like it.”

"Sam, I do,” Castiel said. “I see my family. You might open the door to them, when they come to bring me food."

"So they don't want to haul you back?"

"They're convinced that I will want to come back."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. Not yet. I have to finish school."

“And who knows what you will want then,” Sam said. "Anyway, do you want to try this Sonata?"

"Sure." Castiel sidled past Sam and went back to the piano. “Which movement?”

"[The Allegro](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Sonata+No+3+III+Allegro/2Rx9GR?src=5)."

Castiel rang out the first prancing notes and laid the counterpoint, and Sam came in perfectly. Castiel glanced up to find the tall violinist standing in the bend, right where he could watch Castiel. He didn't use sheet music; he already had it.

And he had  _It_.

Sam's technique was smooth and his bowing delicate. He was no stranger to fingerwork. But he had a way of filling his part that made Castiel wonder if he'd ever really heard the song he'd played five dozen times before. Sam’s violin chased Castiel’s piano, and then ran away laughing. Sam played, but he also  _played_. Castiel knew that no better violinist would ever stand in the bend of his piano.

And something about the way he brought the part made Castiel think of a fluttering heartbeat, heaving breaths, as if he'd just danced tremblingly with someone beautiful enough to make him turn his mind to the carnal. He thought of dancing with Dean.

He had to read the music, but he could feel Sam watching him. He didn't look. This feeling wasn't about Sam, even though it was his flowing flight of melody that brought it out.

The music spun in breathless glissando, slowed, and sank into a chord like a dancer’s curtsy. Cas lifted his hands from the keyboard and slowly looked at Sam, who was looking back.

Sam looked at Castiel like he’d never seen him before, looked at him with respect and something a bit like…

Sam looked at Castiel like he was special.

He’d seen it. Other students and teachers looked at him like that. He was used to being regarded as good, and tried his best to battle the pride that threatened to fell him if he let it raise his head. After the competition, he thought he’d never fall prey to it again.

But that look from Sam made him feel a little taller.

“You’re amazing,” Sam said. “I play with some great pianists, but you… you  _fit_.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Thank you, Cas. Wow. I,” Sam set his violin back in the case, secured his bow. “Dean said you were good.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He…talks a lot about you, actually,” Sam peered at Castiel like he’s expecting something.

“I’m glad to be in his thoughts,” Castiel said. It was reflex. he said that whenever he heard that someone was speaking of him. But he wondered at Sam telling him.

“And you guys aren’t--”

“I’m not sure I should be talking to Dean’s brother about this.”

“What are you going to do, pretend you’re not involved while I’m here? Sleep in your own bed, banish him to his, no sex for the week?” Sam snorted. “Obviously I know, so why hide it?”

“It’s … complicated.”

“Complicated? Oh, do you mean the bondage?”

“Hey!”

Castiel and Sam both looked up.

Dean stood at the door of the music room. He’d walked right past the kitchen with his grocery bags in each hand. They’d never even heard the Impala. He was locked on Sam, brows knit together and his mouth a tight line.  _Angry_ , Cas thought.

“Sam, lay off Cas and butt out,” Dean said. “Cas, I apologize, and may I speak to my brother for a minute, alone?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said. “I’ll be in my room.”

Hadn’t Dean told his brother? They spoke every day. Dean spoke of him to Sam, but didn’t tell his brother that they…kissed? Touched? Castiel wouldn’t talk about that part either, exactly, but he would have thought that Sam would know something…

“No,” Sam said. “Anything you can say to me you ought to be able to say to him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the third entry I ever wrote on this story. I think that Appoggiatura became a novel length story *because* I wrote this entry. Once I let myself write a scene that far ahead in the future, I had to figure out what had happened between the first and second entries (Expectations and Audition, respectively) in order to get to the point where Sam got home for Thanksgiving break.
> 
> So blame Sam. It's his fault.


	28. Con Forza

“Sam, this is not the time to—”

“Look, what are you yelling at me for? Because you never told me that you and Cas were boyfriends?”

“You could have just outed me.”

“Oh bullshit. Everyone who knows you knows you’re into guys too.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“What, the bondage? Take a real close look at your boyfriend, Dean. You notice anything?”

Castiel blinked and looked down at himself. Oh.

His wrists were bruised.

Dean stared at the marks, turning a bit red.

“That’s not my fault,” Castiel complained. “He was tickling. Tickling’s not fair.”

Sam laughed and pointed his bow at Dean. “You shouldn’t have tickled, Dean.”

“He squeaks,” Dean said.

“I do not!” Cas declared.

“Don’t tell me that,” Sam said. “I might tickle him.”

“I’ll tickle your teeth out if you try it, you lummox.”

“There should be no tickling at all,” Castiel said.

“Ha!” Sam said.

“How long have you known, Sam?”

“Dean. I’m your brother. We used to share a room. Why else would you hide rope under the bed?”

“You snooped through my stuff?”

“And Cassie told me.”

“She what.”

“It was no big deal, I already knew. And the three dozen or so hitch rings you sank into the studs?”

Dean shrugged, shook it off. “Okay, fine. So you know.”

“Yup. So why don’t you two tell me what’s up. Boyfriends or Complicated?”

“Boyfriends,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“And already living together.”

“I have my own room,” Castiel said. “Which I will keep to, while you decide if you approve of me.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s handled, Cas. We share a wall, though. Stay in his room.” Sam peered at Dean. “You want some help with those bags?”

“I got it,” Dean said. “Give me a minute. What do you want to run through?”

“Obviously, now that you’re here we should play the Danse Macabre arrangement Castiel wrote.” Sam’s eyebrows rose as he looked back and forth between Dean and Cas. “Um. Or not?”

“Yeah, about that. We didn’t tell you what happened last night. On second thought, both of you come help me. We’re gonna have to tell him anyway.”

*

“What a bitch!” Sam exploded.

Dean maneuvered around Sam, who slowly poured the last drops of hot water over ground coffee. “My sentiments exactly.”

“It still hurts to remember it,” Castiel said. “I don’t know why she did it.”

“Okay, I know Meg Masters from youth orchestra,” Sam said, and took down coffee mugs left handed. “She picked on any of the junior members with talent. Meg’s more of a show-off than a performer. But sweet move, playing her sonata.”

Castiel accepted the first cup and took it out of the way of Dean stocking the pantry. “Thanks. Everyone thinks it was clever. I just couldn’t see anything else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Sam added milk and sugar to his, and drank half of it at a go. “Aunt Ellen will have her head on a plate come the second of December, if she didn’t track Meg down that day.”

“But what would Professor Harvelle do to her?”

Dean nudged Sam out of the way of the fridge, pointing to the breakfast bar.

Sam wound around the range island and sat. “At the very least? Automatic disqualification from the competition. That’s two marks off her performance grade for the year.”

“That still leaves room for her to get an 8.”

“There’s only ten marks,” Sam explained to Dean.

“You say that like I haven’t had dinner in this house with Aunt Ellen and Jo a dozen times,” Dean said dryly. “Cas, I doubt she’ll make a mark past 1.2 for the rest of the year, in case you’re wondering.”

“And you need a 6 to pass performance,” Castiel said. “This could have been her third performance this year, but I doubt it.”

“She’ll probably fail performance. She won’t graduate on time. And that’s just if Aunt Ellen decides to be nice.” Sam drank the last of his cup of coffee, and refilled his cup from the flask.

Castiel winced and toyed with his cup. “Maybe I should feel bad for her.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean added a spoon of sugar to his cup, and took the flask from Sam. “Schadenfreude, Cas. Savor it.”

“I don’t think I can help it.”

“Too nice, Cas. Too nice.” Dean was smiling as he said it.

“Dude, you are so gone,” Sam laughed.

“Shut up! Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Let’s play it,” Castiel said. Both brothers turned and looked at him.

“Sure,” Sam said.

“Whatever you want, Cas.”

“Ice cream?”

“There’s two feet of snow out there,” Sam said.

“It’s warm inside,” Castiel pointed out.

“Dessert is planned, then. Come help me tune my cello.”

*

Dean was about ready to have a talk with Sam about looking at his boyfriend that way. Then he’d tell himself he was being fucking stupid. And then Sam would look at Cas that way again and Dean would like to choke him all over again.

But he was being fucking stupid.

Sam had presence. In spades, ace to ten. He’d gotten a solo performance already because of it. Naturally when he got ready to change the lead line, he caught Castiel’s eye. Caught Dean’s too, but that was different.

When Sam looked at Cas, it was just the light of performance that made it hard to look anywhere but at him. Dean knew it well.

They sat for a moment in silence when it was over.

“I didn’t expect that,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Wow.”

“That was two reapers fighting over the same dance partner,” Castiel said. “I hadn’t realized that the switching of dominant instrument would come out as…a fight for dominance. It was interesting. We should record this.”

“We should do it right away,” Sam said. “And do me a favor. Don’t kiss Dean?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s mad at me, and I don’t want to lose it. Soon as I noticed I maybe kinda pushed it. Don’t kill me, Dean. I’m your brother. I just want that attack.”

“You’re making googly eyes at him,” Dean grumbled.

“It’s for effect,” Sam said. “Promise.”

“Dean, are you jealous?” Cas asked.

“Possessive,” Dean corrected, and they split up to damp the windows and set up microphones.

*

Even knowing that Sam was just trying to wind him up, Dean wanted to growl at Sam for ogling Cas that way. Dean asserted his cello leads with the force Sam said his shenanigans with Cas were all about. Sam knew about putting on a good performance. He knew better than Dean did. Sam wasn’t coming to steal his man.

But when Cas went into the kitchen to slide the knot buns into the oven, Dean followed him. He waited until Cas had set the timer. But the next second had Castiel backed up against the fridge and Dean kissing him like he meant to strip him bare. Buttons came unfastened. Dean had to watch himself.

Castiel bit Dean’s lip and made him pull his head back in surprise. Lips and teeth fastened on his throat, and Cas sucked, his fingers dug into Dean’s shoulders to hold him still. It hurt. Dean pushed Castiel back into the fridge with a thump and jammed their hips together in a grinding andante tempo that had his head spinning.

Cas’s breath came out harsh right next to his ear. Dean caught Cas’s chin and kissed him again, wrapped his hand along the back of Cas’s neck and slipped the other into his half opened shirt, rumbling in satisfaction at Castiel’s squeak when he held the hard-peaked tip of Cas’s nipple in his fingers and rolled it--

“I’m headed toward the kitchen! Making obvious noises so you know I’m coming and you can quit dry-humping--whoa,” Sam said, and quickly left the room. “I swear I was kidding about the dry-humping.”

Dean stepped back and looked at Cas, who stared back at him, panting. Cas was disheveled. No. He looked debauched, even with his pants still on. His gray striped shirt was unbuttoned to the belt buckle, half off one shoulder. His lips were deep rosy pink, swollen, parted, his eyes wild and wide.

“Sam, take the bread out when the timer goes off, please,” Castiel said. He was only a little bit hoarse.

“No problem,” Sam’s voice said. “Have fun.”

“Thank you, I will,” Castiel said, and he grabbed Dean’s hand to drag him upstairs.

 


	29. Con Amore

Dean let Cas drag him up the stairs but was headed right when Castiel went left, and it threw him off. He turned himself around as Castiel bumped the door to his bedroom open and followed him in.

“Cas.” Good idea. In his room, he’d want to tie Castiel again. In here, they could just go back to what they got started in the kitchen. Dean cupped Castiel’s face in his hands and kissed him, got ready for Cas to melt into his arms and--

Castiel steered Dean backwards to pin him to the only full-height wall in the room. Castiel kissed Dean, not the other way around - kissed  _him_  and put his hand right on Dean’s cock, squeezing it through the thick denim and stitching. Castiel wedged a thigh between Dean’s legs and invited him to squirm on it while he kept his other hand on the back of Dean’s neck and kissed him like he was going to have Dean right there with the wall at his back. Castiel was strong enough to hold him up and do exactly what he wanted, and the thought scraped across Dean’s mind and crackled into life, so vivid Dean sucked in a deep breath to chase it away.

This wasn’t how they did things. Castiel sucked on Dean’s lip, eased back and looked at him. Dean could just imagine how he must look. He felt like he wasn’t quite touching the ground.

“Dean. I think it’s a good idea for you to tell me what your safeword is,” Castiel said. “Should I test you to make sure you will remember it?”

“Air Supply,” Dean said. “What do you mean to do with me?”

“Not tie you,” Castiel said. “Other than that, nothing we haven’t done already. But I’m going to do it to you. Will you let me?”

Castiel was backing him around the corner. Dean kept a hand behind him, feeling for the footboard. Castiel steered him around it, and pressed down on his shoulder to cue him when to duck under the sloped ceiling.

Dean got in the center of Castiel's double bed. It was smaller than the breadth of his own gigantic mattress. Cas didn’t have ropes. Or lube. Or —

Castiel crawled over him. He kissed the sucking bruise he’d made on Dean earlier. It was sore. Dean loved it. Every red-violet point in it was wonderful.

“Why do you want to?”

Castiel tugged up Dean’s shirt. “You were jealous.”

Dean sat up to let him take it. “Possessive.”

“Such feelings only come to someone who fears that they are not loved enough, or desired enough.”

Castiel tugged the tails of his shirt out of his jeans and stripped it off. Dean scraped his teeth against his lip. Castiel was broad shouldered, deep chested, with lovingly cut lines of muscle and sinew.

“Clearly I have been remiss. I desire you, Dean. Will you let me show you?”

He wanted to—

“Yes,” Dean said. “Castiel, yes.”

*

Castiel had learned  _so much._

Dean tried to hold on, to keep watch over them both, but Castiel could feel it when Dean tried to clear his mind of the sweet fog and would drag his nails over a spot that would make him gasp or pinch his nipples or bite with a gentle drag of his teeth - once he even snatched up Dean’s wrists, pinned them by his head and whispered, “Do you need to call it out?”

Castiel had had to remind him that he had a safeword to use. Dean wasn’t keeping his head nearly as well as he imagined.

“Please don’t stop,” Dean said, and Castiel kissed his breath away.

He was lost. He couldn’t keep watch over them. But Castiel had asked him if he needed to stop. He had tuned himself to Dean, read his body's melody  and the tempo of his breath. He let it tell him how to sharpen his touch to make Dean lose his watchfulness. But it wasn’t just the kissing, the touching, or the biting that was seeping under his skin.

Castiel spoke to him, and his words made Dean want to tear off all their clothes and rut against him.

“Even after a thousand kisses, five thousand, I still stare at your mouth.”

Not a single bad word fell from Castiel’s lips. Not a whisper of a syllable of vulgarity - Castiel didn’t swear, didn’t curse, and he certainly didn’t talk dirty. But the things he whispered:

“I think about you when I’m not with you. Carnal things,” Castiel confessed. “About you next to me. I think about the things we haven’t done yet. I know how they’re done, but I want to know. So much.”

He picked up one of Dean’s hands and kissed it - every digit, his palm, every knuckle, traced his tongue along the lines that were said to tell one’s fortune.

“I dream of your hands on me,” he told Dean. “Sometimes I feel as if you’re right there, and I think about going home to you right then. I wonder if you were thinking of me when it happens, and I just know.”

No one could say these things to him. No one but Cas, who couldn’t sound like he was playing at innocence. Cas meant all of it and it got to him, got inside Dean’s mind and Dean knew Cas had meant it. Cas loved him. Cas loving him wasn’t something bartered. It was something Cas did without demanding everything in return.

It should have scared him, but all he wanted was to feel it.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Cas, please.”

“Please what?” He asked, just the way Dean always asked him.

“We should be naked.”

“Oh, I want to be,” Castiel said with a soft smile. They kicked their jeans and underwear to the floor, socks disappearing in the legs.

Castiel kissed and praised his way down Dean’s hairless skin, and he rested his head on Dean’s belly, his hand right where Dean needed it the most. Dean rolled his hips, arched into Castiel’s hand, and didn’t care that it was dry, he just needed to move.

Then Castiel rolled up onto his elbow and his hot breath flared over the tip of his cock. Dean’s mindless hips thrust up at Castiel’s mouth, then stilled.

_Fuck, Dammit._  “Wait, Stop. Air Supply.”

Castiel sat up. “Dean. Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. I just remembered something.”

“What is it?”

“I’m late to talk to you about this. Sam would kick my ass if he knew.”

“What is it?”

“Safe sex,” Dean said. “We haven’t been doing it.”

“I’ve never had a sex partner other than you.”

“I know. But I have,” Dean said. “It’s been a couple of years between relationships for me, and I have had a full screening since then but I haven’t got my results yet. I know they’re going to be clear, but I can’t just not say anything.”

Castiel slid down to lie beside Dean and laid his hand on Dean’s chest. “So we should be using condoms and things?”

“I want to do something else. We’re already doing it but I want to say that’s what we’re doing.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to be monogamous. I don’t want other partners. I just want you. That’s what I always want. I’m not a hookup kind of guy anyway, I don’t move fast —”

“That’s true,” Castiel laughed. “Sometimes much to my frustration.”

“I don’t want to use condoms or gloves or any of that, Cas. I want to be with you.”

“You want to be fluid bonded.”

Dean blinked. “Where did you learn that?”

“I read about it in a brochure I got with free condoms on campus,” Castiel said. “I thought that was the method we were using. And I’d like to keep using it.”

“I’m still waiting for the results,” Dean said.

“You know what they’ll say,” Castiel said, “and I believe you. Thank you for telling me, Dean. Can we start again?”

“Yes.”

Castiel pinned him to the bed. “I would like to put my mouth on your flesh, Dean. It feels so good. I think of you doing it to me when I’m seeking release.”

*

Castiel parted his lips and the scrape of teeth on his head was Dean’s fault, but he didn't care. "Cas, please."  
Castiel lifted his head. "Please what?"   
"I want your mouth," Dean confessed.   
Castiel grinned at Dean and he got it, hot and wet with sliding tongue and firm lips and Cas sucking his cheeks hollow. He'd learned so much. Dean slid his fingers through Castiel's hair and let himself feel it.

Castiel didn’t try to duplicate Dean’s trick of going deeper. One bob that went too deep kept him from daring more than what he could easily take, but he never stopped moving, not his head or his lips or his tongue.

It didn’t matter. Cas was giving him everything.

“Cas,” Dean said. “I’m getting close.”

He didn’t stop. He wrapped his hand around the spit-slick base and squeezed in time with his mouth, and Dean’s legs flexed out straight and hard as planks. He grabbed up handfuls of the hand-stitched quilt underneath him, and shut his eyes at the moment he couldn’t stop the orgasm happening for anything.

Castiel moaned when the first spasm hit. He slurped noisily, and the vibrations from his pleased sounds ran straight up Dean’s spine, wracking him until he sat up and pulled Castiel off him, kissing as fast as he could.

Cas’s tongue was still slick, the bitter, beloved taste strong. Dean had caught him in time. He moaned into Castiel’s mouth and tasted himself there and it was so perfect.

Castiel was whispering his name between kisses. Gently, Dean laid Castiel down and put his hand on Castiel’s cock, but Cas held his hand still.

“I meant this to be for you,” Cas said.

“And it was so good. But let me.”

Castiel lay back and Dean took good care of him.

*

“So you two are still in that ‘can’t keep your hands off each other’ phase. All right, good to know,” Sam said.

He’d cleaned up the recording kit and the sound damping drapes, gotten the buns out without incident, and had eaten two of them at least. He sat in the AV room, which was just under Castiel’s room, with a Canadian broadcast of Hockey Night in Canada.

“Chicago Vancouver later tonight,” Sam said. “Ottawa at Detroit right now. Ottawa is looking pretty good.”

“Hockey? Sammy.” Dean shook his head sadly.

“That or listen to you two.”

“Sorry, Sam. I chose my room instead of his,” Castiel said.

Sam waved a half drunk bottle of root beer airily. “You chose the  _kitchen_  until I chased you out,” Sam said. “The buns are really good. I checked out the fridge. What are we eating?”

“Oh right, the salad eating machine is in.”

“Salad sounds good,” Sam said. “I like salad.”

“There are steaks,” Castiel said

“I’m not objecting to that either,” Sam said. “And I’ll even cook them.”

“You keep trying, Sammy, someday you’ll make it.”

“Dean, I can help you in the kitchen.”

“No way,” Sam said. “You’re going to sit right here until Dean’s focused. And then we will find out what Dean needs help with that doesn’t involve using kitchen counters to get leverage.”

“Sam thinks he’s funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” Sam said. “Now scram, I want to interrogate your boyfriend.”

*

Dean left, after a verbal scuffle with Sam about closing the door to give them some privacy, and Sam got right to it.

“Look, I want to know what your intentions are toward Dean.”

It was comforting to know that some things Outside were the same. Good that Dean had a family member to watch out for his well-being. Castiel relaxed. He knew how this was done, even if he’d never really had to do it. 

“I don’t think anyone intended for a romance to happen, Sam,” Castiel said. “But Dean’s a good man and a good friend. He offered me a place in his home, and what happened between us grew from that friendship.”

“I get that,” Sam said. “You’re from very different worlds.”

“That is true,” Castiel said, and waited.

“And I don’t think you’re trying to take advantage or anything. And I don’t think Dean was even thinking that way. What I want to know is--”

“I love him, Sam. I told him as much.”

“And he didn’t freak out,” Sam said. Relief melted his posture a bit. “That’s good. So far, so good.”

What? He knew what that term meant, but he didn’t understand. “Why would that trigger severe anxiety, fear, and doubt in Dean?”

Sam turned the volume down a bit, sat a little closer. “I keep wondering how much you know about us, Cas. Love’s a … thing, for Dean. Dad was a drinker. I’ve gone to ACOA meetings - they’re for kids of alcoholics. I guess someone noticed that drunks don’t make good parents.”

“Your grandmother tried to give you a stable life.”

“She fought for custody, she called child services, she hired private investigators to find us. She did everything she could,” Sam shrugged one shoulder and looked down at his root beer.

“But she didn’t succeed until Dean was nearly 18.”

“Yeah. Dad would clean up, look good, say the right things, and imply that she was making it up or crazy, or greedy, and we weren’t often asked what we thought of being child stars.” Sam’s knuckles tightened over the brown bottle.

“Do you think that would have made a difference, if you’d gone to live with your grandmother earlier?”

“Growing up giving performances one night and then sleeping in the Impala three towns over while your dad played a roadhouse, that wasn’t a normal life.”

“It’s not. Is that why love is a, a thing?”

“Dad used love as a weapon. When we did what he wanted, he loved us. When we didn’t, he was disappointed. Love was the rug that he’d yank out from under us.”

Castiel wondered if it was like doing something so wrong your family turned their faces away from you until you repented. He felt that quiver of shame and fear, and reached for Sam’s hand.

Sam squeezed it, and kept talking. “When he broke promises to us, or fucked up a regular gig so we’d have to move again, or when he’d find a judge to give him back custody, he’d do things for us. We went to the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, Mount Rushmore, Lake Tahoe, Key West. We’ve ridden the top 25 rollercoasters in America. To this day I still can’t get lost in Disneyland. He kept us in electronic toys, designer clothes, took us skiing, football games, baseball, hockey, basketball… all the money he made blew away like dust.”

“You didn’t know which way was up.”

“I told myself that what he was doing was wrong. Dean tried so hard to be good, to make Dad proud of him, to take care of him, to keep him from drinking… I don’t think he ever really realized the things Dad taught him, you know?”

“You mean about love.”

“Dean thinks love is a thing that other people control. I think Dean needs control more than most people, you know? When you told him you loved him, did he say it back?”

“Did he say the words? No.”

“You don’t seem bothered by that.”

“You can say a lot of things, Sam. It’s what people do that matters.”

“And what does Dean do for you?”

“He tries,” Castiel said. “He tries his hardest. He faces what he’d rather hide from. He chooses to trust me.”

Sam looked down at Castiel’s hand, still holding his. “If he’s doing that, you need to be careful, Cas.”

“I will,” Castiel said. “I promise you. I’ll hold him safe.”

*

“So did he give you the ‘hurt my brother and I’ll kill you’ speech?”

“He asked me what my intentions were toward you,” Castiel said, and put out another chopping board. He cored a fennel bulb and sliced it into spears.

Dean swiped a kiss on his cheek. “All wicked, I hope.”

“Not all,” Castiel said.

Dean put out a saute pan. “Make us some mushrooms, Sammy. Did you put the screws to him?”

“He caved in a heartbeat. Easiest interrogation ever.” Sam lifted the pan and shook it. “Guys, you don’t mind if I go to bed early and just read a book? I am fried. I’ve been up since four.”

“You go right ahead, Sam,” Dean said, openly eyeing Cas’s hands. “We’ll survive.”

 


	30. Con Brio

Sam’s presence at home demanded something more than a simple breakfast, and so Dean set his alarm for seven.

Castiel had already gotten out of bed. The juicer was roaring downstairs, and Sam’s voice rumbled over the din. Dean got up and made the bed, stumbled into the shower, and came downstairs in time to get a glass full of carrot and apple juice.

“There’s no greens,” Dean complained. “And no dubstep before ten am.”

“I told you,” Castiel said.

“I thought maybe just this once,” Sam said. “All right, I do the dishes.”

Castiel laughed and spread frosting over warm cinnamon rolls. “Good morning,” he said, and came over.

Sam ducked out to change the music to the jangly guitar and happy tempo of one of Sam’s damn indie bands, but at least it sounded like [rock](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Juliette/2BRsRI?src=5). He was up to his elbows in baking dishes by the time Castiel let Dean up for air, and was very much not looking at them.

“Dean, were you seriously planning on hiding it from me? Look at you. You’re revolting. I need a dentist.”

“Not hide it, hide it,” Dean said. “I just wasn’t sure how you’d take the news.”

“Dean, Cas and I have been chatting our way through our most hated classes for weeks. You remember when you set up instant messages on my old iPad for him? Since then.”

Dean took over the grill and put a whole package worth of maple sausages on the flame. “So you might know more about my sex life than I do.”

“Hey now,” Sam said. “I knew that Cas was into you and vice versa. Details are fuzzy.”

“Dean is very serious about taking things slowly,” Castiel said.

“Sounds like impatience,” Sam teased.

“I am certain he’s only doing what he thinks is best.”

“Okay, I’m right here and we are not having this conversation. Sam. Get your hands out of that sink and make us some waffle batter.”

“He lets you cook in the kitchen too,” Cas said.

“He made sure I had the proper training first.” Sam retrieved a cheesecloth covered measuring cup, a kitchen scale, and went to work hand mixing different flours.

 

Sam and Castiel were into their third cups of coffee and a shared cinnamon roll when the deep growl of a v-8 engine rumbled outside. Dean twisted around to look out the window.

“Cas,” Dean said. “It’s for you.”

Castiel looked up, wide-eyed. “Inias?”

“And Anna. And your mother.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment. “Are they carrying anything?”

“Looks like bags, a - is that a pie box?”

Castiel heaved a sigh of relief. “They brought food. It can’t be too bad.”

The doorbell rang, and Castiel got up to answer it.

“Come in, take your shoes off, let me make you some tea? Coffee? There are cinnamon rolls. We were just having Sunday brunch.” Castiel took bags from Anna, who let him kiss her on one cheek before turning away.

“You brunch now, Castiel?” Inias teased.

“Only on Sundays. Dean’s brother is home.”

Sam got to his feet, and Dean followed.

Castiel’s mother, brother, and former betrothed stood in the foyer, taking off their heavy boots. Anna had her red hair fastened in a complicated braid that hung down to her knees. Inias held his hat in his hand. Mrs. Bauer wore her hair in a long braid that snaked over her shoulder and down to the hem of her wool dress, fastened with tiny black buttons from ankle to throat. All of them wore thick, handknitted woolen socks.

“You and Dean have met,” Castiel said. “This is his younger brother Sam, who is currently studying at Juilliard in New York. Sam, this is my mother, Naomi Bauer—”

Sam took Naomi’s hand gently. “Mrs. Bauer, a pleasure to meet you. May I take your coat?”

“Thank you, young man, that’s most kind.”

“And Dean, you remember Anna,” Castiel said.

Dean offered her a hand. Anna looked at it, then took it.

“Let me take your coat,” Dean said. “Do you drink coffee, or tea?”

“Tea, please.”

“And I can make you a waffle if you’re interested.”

“Did Castiel tell you I liked waffles?” Anna asked, looking incredulous.

“He did. And we have strawberry syrup,” Dean said.

Castiel took Inias’s coat from him. “Sam, This is my brother Inias. He plays the fiddle.”

“Fiddle, huh.” Sam grinned. “I do too.”

“He also made all of the dishes, Sam. And the big bowls in the parlor,” Dean said, passing by them.

“Oh, nice work,” Sam said.

“And this is Anna Milton. Anna, Dean’s little brother Sam.”

“Younger brother,” Sam said, taking her hand. “I haven’t been shorter than Dean since I was fifteen.”

“And he loves to rub it in. Let them into the dining room, Sasquatch.” Dean picked up his plate and moved it from the head of the table and set it at the place closest to the kitchen. “I’ll put water on. Miss Anna wants tea. Mrs. Bauer? Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

“Inias?”

“Tea for me. Castiel, are you drinking coffee?”

“Dean’s coffee is very good,” Castiel said.

“It must be.”

Sam escorted Mrs. Bauer to sit at the table, then held Anna’s chair for her.

“Castiel, we knew that your friend would celebrate Thanksgiving and so we brought you things for the feast.”

“Thank you, mother. Is it one of the ducks?”

“It is. And you’ll find a tub of the fat, filtered.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bauer,” Dean said, returning with a teapot. “I always want to buy it, but thought it too indulgent for just myself. We will enjoy it very much.”

Castiel took the pie box and bags and moved them into the kitchen. “I’ll be back.”

“Do you enjoy cooking, Dean?” Anna asked.

Dean poured batter into the hot iron. “When Sam and I traveled with our father I was the one making most of our meals.”

“Castiel makes very good bread,” Anna said. “But I suppose you know that.”

“He made the cinnamon rolls,” Dean said. “Would you like one?”

“I think the waffle will do, thank you,” Anna said.

“Mrs. Bauer? Would you like a cinnamon roll with your tea?” Sam asked.

“I would, Sam. Thank you.”

“Inias?”

“I’d love one,” Inias said. “Castiel usually made them for his naming day breakfast.”

“Castiel told you about our celebrations, didn’t he?” Anna asked.

“He told me about naming days, yes. And about the Watch on the Longest Night.”

“You and your family are invited to join us,” Naomi said. Her roll sat on a sideplate, untouched.

“There will be music and dancing,” Inias said.

“Oh, I’ll bring my fiddle,” Sam said. “Do you play Appalachian or Acadian?”

“Both,” Inias said. “And we do contradances and quadrilles. Do you know songs for those?”

“One or two,” Sam said with a grin.

“So you’ll come?” Anna asked. “You’re both coming to the Watch?”

“They’re both coming to the watch, Anna,” Castiel said, coming from the kitchen with a steaming kettle. He poured water into the teapot and covered it with a knitted cosy.

“Did you make that, Brother?”

“I think Dean’s grandmother made that one,” Castiel said, and let Dean take the kettle from him.

“It’s fine work. There’s yarn in the bags too, if you’re not too busy for it.”

“I still find a moment or two for knitting,” Castiel said. “But not many.”

“Well there’s dyed yarn there for your blanket,” Anna said. “I put them up. Green and blue, and some yellow.”

“I wish I was farther along on my blanket,” Castiel said. “Thank you, Anna.”

“I thought since I won’t see you on your naming day,” Anna said, and faltered.

“Wait, she won’t?” Dean asked, and went around the table to pour tea.

“The dance recital is that day. Kevin and I will be performing,” Castiel said. “Dean, do you mind if Mother says a few words?”

Castiel meant Grace, Dean supposed.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind,” he said, and sat down.

Castiel took his mother’s hand and then Inias’s. Sam put his hands above the table to join with Anna and Naomi. Inias’s grip was dry and sure. Anna simply laid her hand in Dean’s.

“Castiel, thank you for making the cinnamon rolls. Dean, thank you for the splendid meal you invited us to share. Sam, thank you for the welcome and kindness you’ve given us,” Naomi said. “The light of God works through you and shines on us, and we thank you.”

“Thank you,” Inias and Anna echoed.

Dean knew what came next. “And thanks be with you,” he said, in unison with Castiel, who smiled at him for remembering. Sam just smiled at the unknown ritual.

The circle of hands eased apart and Anna cut a square of her waffle. “This is delicious, Dean. You used buttermilk.”

“Sam did,” Dean says. “Sam’s the waffle and pancake champion around here.”

“Castiel Bauer, this cinnamon is so fine,” Naomi said. “I’ve not tasted smoother.”

“Dean buys his spices from a local merchant,” Castiel said. “I’ll bring you some when we come for the Watch.”

“Castiel, will you save some time for me at the Watch?” Anna asked, and Castiel put his fork and knife down.

“I will. You have things to say to me.”

“I do,” she said.

Castiel looked down at his plate.

“Inias, will you save some time for me at the Watch?” Anna asked.

“I will. You have things to say to me,” Inias said.

“I do.” Her nod at Inias’s lowered eyes was satisfied.

Dean set down his fork. Anna hadn’t anything in her hands when she asked, and Dean didn’t quite know how to do this.

“Anna, will you save some time for me at the Watch?”

Anna looked up at Dean, mouth agape. Naomi watched Dean, her lips in a thoughtful line.

“I-will,” Anna said. “You have things to say to me.”

“I do,” Dean said.

“Since we’re untangling our business,” Naomi said.

Dean turned to Naomi, who watched him with one eyebrow raised.

“Dean, will you save some time for me at the Watch?”

“I will,” Dean said, and looked her right in the eye. “You have things to say to me.”

“I do,” Naomi said.

Dean just bet she did.

 


	31. Festivamente

  
On Thanksgiving morning Dean made cinnamon pancakes for breakfast and Sam made all kinds of faces eating them. “This is how I’m going to get a girl to marry me. I’m gonna make her this after a night of mindblowing sex.”

“On the first date?” Dean teased.

“Naw,” Sam said, and took another one to eat. “I’m not crazy.”

“This is how you celebrate?” Castiel asked. “The holiday, I mean, not Sam’s courtship plans.”

“Food, food, and more food? Yep,” Dean said, and gave Castiel another piece of bacon.

“Celebration days usually begin with ablutions,” Castiel said.

“You mean bathing?” Sam asked

“Ritually. Herb infused water. It can get a bit chilly for the Watch.” Castiel would stand shivering on a mat and wash in water infused with camphor-smelling hyssop, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet for those celebrations. Warm, sweet pancakes scented with cinnamon and the promise of a feast definitely had its appeal.

“No special baths,” Dean tapped the side of his plate with his fork. “Special meals.”

“Like this one.”

“Lunch will be grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m gonna grill them with that duck fat,” Dean rubbed his stomach in anticipation of a meal he wasn’t even hungry for yet. “One of the squashes will become soup.”

“And then Christmas decorations,” Sam said, and Castiel looked at him, sitting across the table. “We used to wait until the first of December but I have to go back before then, so we’re doing it today.”

“What do the decorations signify?” Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. “Festivity.”

“Dean’s right. They’ve largely lost any meaning,” Sam said. “Oh, but gifts.”

“Oh yeah, gifts.”

“You give each other gifts,” Castiel said. “All right, what do I need to know about that?”

“Well, for kids, it’s usually a big haul of toys,” Dean said. “And they can get pretty expensive. My concert cello, the one that I hardly ever use, that was a Christmas gift. But Sam and I usually give each other little things.”

“Useful things,” Sam said. “Or books. I like books.”

“Music,” Dean said.

“Oh if I’m going to give you a gift I know what I’ll give you, Dean Michael.”

Sam grinned at Dean. “Dude. Did you just get told?”

“What? No! Wait, did I?”

“No,” Castiel said. “Full use of given names is to distinguish identity. That you mean exactly their person. Though it can be said when chastising someone. Which I was not doing.”

“Oh,” Sam said. “Lucas.”

“Jeremiah.”

Sam smiled at him. “So now we can give each other hell.”

Castiel smiled back.

“What would you like for Christmas, Castiel?” Dean asked.

“Ties,” Castiel said. “I really like ties.”

Dean smiled down at his plate.

“Ties need shirts,” Sam said.

“I like buttoned shirts,” Castiel said. “They’re modest.”

“So, Castiel wants clothes,” Dean said. “But no socks.”

“Yarn for socks,” Castiel said. “There’s a knit shop in town. They buy yarn and wool from us.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?”

“Cas means unspun wool,” Sam said. “Yarn is spun. Do you have a mill?”

“No. We do it on wheels. I didn’t bring my wheel with me.”

*

Castiel and Sam washed dishes. Dean split a butternut squash in half and put it in the oven. “The only days I really need a double oven,” he said. “I’ll be in and out of here all day. So! Decorations time.”

Sam patted Castiel gently on the back. “You’re doomed now, Cas.”

“What do you mean?”

“By family tradition, it is now open season on Christmas music, and Dean is a complete sap for it.”

“Hey!” Dean hollered. “Holly Jolly Christmas is one of the happiest songs ever.”

“Complete sap,” Sam said. “You’ll have to watch all the Christmas movies. It’s a Wonderful life, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe—”

“That’s a movie?” Cas asked. “I must see it.”

“Miracle on 34th Street, National Lampoon’s Holiday Vacation, oh hey, Ghostbusters!”

“That’s not a Christmas movie,” Dean scoffed.

“So?”

*

They watched The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Castiel snuggled under Dean’s arm and smiled, winced, squeezed Dean’s hand.

Sam regarded Castiel with an entertained smile. “Watching you watch a movie is amazing, Cas.”

“Movies are amazing.”

“Some of them,” Sam said. “Dean’s been keeping you on the really good fantasy movies.”

“There’s more than that, I know. With a lot of violence.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Dean said. “I picked up a gig. I have to go to LA to put some tracks down for a couple of things I signed an NDA for.”

“Ooh. So you’ll be in the credits of a movie you can’t tell us about.”

“A movie with hot comic book heroes I can’t tell you about,” Dean waggled his eyebrows. “And I have to play some score music for another show.”

“Suspenseful Cello Notes?” Sam asked.

“Yes, exactly that. Maybe a couple of discordant and menacing growls or a lilting romantic glissando.”

“The glamor is killing me,” Sam said.

“It’s money.”

“Is that how you pay for this house, Dean?”

“Well, no. Most of it is automatically handled out of my used-to-be-trust fund,” Dean said. “I do studio work mostly just to do it.”

“Dean’s a gentleman of leisure,” Sam said.

“As are you, Sam.”

Sam didn’t answer for a few seconds. “It wasn’t always like this.”

Dean rubbed at his temple. “Dad did what he could.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. “But our judgements differ.”

“What was he supposed to do, Sam?” Dean said it like this was familiar ground, trod over many times.

“Letting us stay with Grandma would have been a start. Dean. You hate hearing this.”

“You know I do.”

“But you should talk to somebody,” Sam went on. “It doesn’t have to be about Dad.”

Dean let his head flop back as he sighed. “This is the stage thing again, isn’t it.”

“Yep. Look, Dean. You’d have to have no sense of music at all not to realize that we--” Sam’s finger circled to include all three of them. “Us right here? We have what could be an amazing trio. That deserves to be heard.”

“Sam, stop,” Castiel said. “Dean believes that you won’t love him if he doesn’t perform on stage.”

Dean’s head whipped to the left to stare at Cas.

Sam blinked. “Dean, that’s not true.”

“I know,” Dean said, but he stared at Cas, who squeezed Dean’s knee.

“It’s really, really not,” Sam said.

Dean covered Castiel’s hand with his  own. “I get that.”

“But you love the music. As much as me, as much as Cas, and not being able to perform onstage is a hole in your life, Dean. We can get around it, recording, maybe send a demo to [Hyperion](https://www.hyperion-records.co.uk/), gain a small cult following of devotees. It’s possible.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “Do you want to get past it?”

“I do,” Dean said. “It just freaks me out so bad when I think about it.”

“Whatever you think you need to do, Dean, if you need my help, I’ll do it.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “When’s the next time you have to do that stage rehearsal for the dancing thing?”

“For The Swan?”

“Oh man, you got stuck with The Swan?” Sam said

“It can’t all be technically difficult,” Castiel said. “The sixth. 9pm.”

“I’ll go.”

“Good,” Sam said. “Good.”

*

After lunch Dean moved boxes of decorations in the parlor. “We use an artificial tree,” Dean said. “It’s pretty convincing, actually.”

“Why would you bring a tree inside?” Castiel said. “I’ve seen them, decorated with lights and baubles, with the boxes underneath. But what does it signify?”

“Life in the midst of winter,” Sam says promptly. “And in pre-Christian times evergreen boughs were supposed to ward off evil spirits.”

“Don’t play Trivial Pursuit against Sam, just so you know. His head is an attic.”

“I’m glad you use an artificial tree. Cutting a young evergreen just to decorate is wasteful.”

“Grandma liked her real tree,” Sam said. “I liked it too.”

“They’re expensive, a fire hazard, and a bother to clean up.”

“I sense a longstanding complaint,” Castiel said.

“Nah, Cas. Dean’s right. It’s more sensible.”

Castiel opened boxes and found neatly tied strings of lights, individually packaged baubles, and replicas of winter birds with wire for feet.

“Those are my favorite,” Dean said.

“More life in the midst of winter?”

“Yeah. The birds that stay all winter long.” Dean got to his feet. “We won’t get this all done before we’re ready to eat. Speaking of,” he said. “Be right back.”

Dean disappeared,

“He’ll be gone for a while,” Sam said, voice low. “Did I push him too hard about the stage thing?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “You really want him to come back.”

“I do, Cas. Even more now we’ve got you. Obviously we can’t start performing on a big scale until after we graduate, but we’re good. We could make this work. That’s what we need to do. Never mind stupid meetings and the Love of Music fundraiser.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a party the Foundation puts on. They book a hotel. Big dinner, concert — wait, you totally need to know about that, you’re going.”

“Well I expect that I’d go, as Dean’s date.”

“No. You’re the Campbell Scholar. You’re performing. So am I. You wanna duet?”

“I would like that, Sam.”

Sam fished out an ornament of a red-coated wooden soldier and held it up. One of its legs was broken. “You know what I’d really like? If we could perform as a trio. But Dean won’t be ready by then.”

“It’d be too soon,” Castiel agreed. “Better  that he felt regret for not going onstage and determination to do it next time, than push too fast.”

“Okay, so duet. Something romantic. Let’s get it figured out when I come back for Christmas.”


	32. Evaluation

Castiel didn’t see Meg Masters in any of the halls. His evaluation meeting was at 9:00am and he paced back and forth in the hallway.

Well. He paced when he wasn’t greeted by Ensemble members. Women he wasn’t even sure he recognized hugged him and told him he did a good job. Rumours flew about Meg, but Castiel tried not to listen.

He’d never dreaded a meeting so much. Not even when the council had gathered to decide to let Castiel attend Lakeside in the first place.

Finally the door opened. “Castiel Bauer.”

Castiel got up and went in.

The room was one of the music rooms used for small group and solo lessons. There was a closed piano on one side of the room and a large television on a rolling stand rested near the wall opposite the door. The judges sat in the first row of seats with a table in front of them.

“We understand that circumstances led you to improvise your performance, and you didn’t actually play the song that you had prepared for the competition,” Professor Balthazar said. “We would like you to play it now, please.”

Castiel blinked, but he nodded and sat down.

*

Sam had made him play this song nearly every morning he’d been home. He studied him, asked Castiel questions, and badgered him to get into the role a little. Castiel had thought that Sam hadn’t wanted him to give up on a project he’d worked hard on, but now he suspected that he was using his knowledge of Ellen Harvelle’s sense of justice without telling him that was what he was doing.

He was even better prepared than he had been at the competition. Castiel let his hand float dreamily in tolling the single note, trilled easily up and down the board with crossing hands, and tried his best to make the whole thing look effortless.

He’d gotten the chance to play it the way he intended - with a nod to Liszt, but a new approach. He’d tried to make his arrangement dizzying and seductive, one that danced an unwitting partner beyond the safe country of a simple waltz.

He laid his hands on his thighs, counted to three, and stood up.

“Thank you, Mr. Bauer. Your actual judging scores are on the table before you. We evaluated your performance at the competition, but felt that it would be more fair to give you feedback based on the song you had intended to perform.”

“Thank you.”

“One thing,” Professor Balthazar said. “Before we get on with it. Your skill as a sight-reader should not go unremarked. If I hadn’t known the way you hold yourself while playing a song for the first time, I would have thought you a talented first year student in just a bit over his head. You are more than talented, Mr. Bauer. I look forward to teaching you privately in your second year.”

That wasn’t just high praise, it was incredible. Jokes flew around the school comparing Professor Balthazar to a popular TV chef. Castiel had been stung by more than one clawed assessment of his posture and style in his class.

“And now we begin,” Professor Harvelle said. “Tell us about your choice to adhere to a waltz tempo throughout your arrangement.”

Sam had asked him about this too. The answers came easily. He talked about his vision of a gallant reaper inviting an innocent to dance in a slightly festival air, to make it light and a little bit silly, and gradually take the dance closer and closer to the veil of death. The last passages were a realization that the one who had danced with a reaper had taken the fateful steps into the land of the dead, and that it was too late to go back.

He talked about the first time he’d heard the song on a record as a boy.

They asked plenty of questions, gave a number of observations, and disagreed with each other in places. Castiel gradually relaxed enough to ask, “If you hadn’t given me the opportunity to perform the song, what would we be talking about?”

“Your performance in the competition,” Professor Harvelle answered. “We would be watching a recording of your performance and doing the feedback based on that.”

“I see. Thank you again for letting me play the song I’d planned.”

*

He didn’t win. He’d known he wouldn’t. He hadn’t expected to. His performance grades were…average. They weren’t the best he could do, and none of his judges slipped in extra points to Hufflepuff for moral fiber or exceptional bravery. He’d have to do a lot better for the rest of the year, but he could. Castiel suspected that his judges agreed with his assessment.

The evaluation had lasted two hours. All of his teachers were in that room, save Professor Zachariah, and he didn’t have Ethics on Monday.

He could go home.

He sat down with his iPad and answered his messages and sent one to Sam:

_Did you know that they’d have me play D.M. today?_

**So they did huh. Aren’t you glad I badgered you to keep practicing?**

_Professor Balthazar said my arrangement was charming._

**He may as well have kissed you on both cheeks.**

_He said he was going to teach me for second year._

**I’m not surprised. He’s going to be extra picky with you. He snarks because he cares.**

_Sam, why did you go to Juilliard when you know Lakeside so well?_

**Because I know Lakeside so well,**  Sam said.  **Everyone there knows me, I know them, and I wanted to see what I could do where nobody remembered me as a gangly kid or knew all about how we were in and out of family court for years.**

_That makes sense._

**Sure. It’s kind of why you left Heaven, isn't it? You wanted to see who you really were.**

Had he?

Maybe he had.

*

Castiel sat and waited for Professor Zachariah to tell him what a bad student he was.

“So, Mr. Bauer. You’re the most fascinating student I’ve had in a long time.”

Castiel looked up with a little frown. “I argued with you all semester.”

“You did.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, and the professor chuckled.

“The course isn’t about learning what ethics are, Castiel,” Professor Zachariah said. “It’s about exploring and questioning your own morality. It’s a chance to explore what you believe, and maybe get your world rocked by another perspective.”

“But my world wasn’t rocked,” Castiel said.

“That’s happened before,” the professor acknowledged. “Usually by people who refuse to look at the contradictions and inconsistencies in their beliefs. But you didn’t argue that it was turtles all the way down, Mr. Bauer. You could outline exactly why you believed what you believed.”

Castiel shrugged. “Because I already thought about it.”

“That’s a fascinating little cult you live in. I’d love to know more about it.”

“We’re theist.” Castiel snuck a look at the clock. The feedback was only supposed to take ten minutes at most. He didn’t want to linger in this tiny office any longer than he had to.

“Even so,” Zachariah said. “it's rare that I have a student with such a strong sense of right and wrong that wasn't reflexive.”

“This is starting to sound like you being surprised that I’m articulate and clean, Professor. You met a theist whose morality you approve of, and instead of thinking, ‘Maybe there’s more about this group I don’t like than what meets the eye,’ you’ve decided that I and my people are some kind of exception to the rule.”

“Confronted with my own confirmation bias,” Professor Zachariah said. “You taught me this year, Castiel. I can’t say that I’m comfortable with it, but I appreciate it.”

“Well while I’m lining up the ‘teachable moments’ let me give you another. I came close to dropping your class.”

Zachariah cocked his head in surprise. “I’d like to know why.”

“Being your ‘most fascinating student’ is very stressful, Professor Zachariah. The only reason why I didn’t quit was because I knew you’d set your lasers on someone else, maybe someone who couldn’t take it. Maybe someone your Devil’s Advocate style would hurt.”

“And so you stood in harm’s way to protect more vulnerable students.”

Castiel got to his feet. This meeting was over. “I’m not a hero, Professor Zachariah. Just altruistic and irrational."


	33. Stage Direction, Reprised

Dean showed up to Castiel’s stage rehearsal through the front of house. The stage was lit, the seats were dark, and again, the auditorium seemed empty of anyone save the barefoot couple on the stage who were probably the dancers, Castiel at the piano, and Kevin in the bend.

Cas had been right. The dancers weren’t ballet, but contemporary. They wore rehearsing dancer clothes, leotards, no shoes, boxy sweaters overtop, and the woman wore her dark hair loose and tumbled to her waist.

Dean walked down to the front row while they stood together and talked, their hands describing physical space, pointed up to the lights, and the motions of the dancers. Castiel said something, and the other three laughed.

They went to their respective places. Cas held the first note as a signal, and began the simple broken chords of [The Swan](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9LHyko-WYE#t=35). Dean watched to see what a contemporary couple would do with one of ballet’s most famous solo dances.

The couple danced together with energy and grace. They met and paused in a series of beautiful postures, dramatic lifts portrayed their happy love. As the dance went on, the woman faltered more, hesitated to return, stayed on the edges of the bright spotlight they danced in. the shadow swallowed her for a second and she came back. That long dark hair had been a wig. the dancer herself was bald. Her partner stumbled and landed on one knee.

Dean felt that moment in his gut.

They came back together. There were no more lifts, no more leaps. He held her as if she would break, in the traditional closed hold of ballroom dancing, turning until the man’s back was to the audience and the woman disappeared into the shadow again.

The fuller lights came on and they came together to talk again, joined by a man from stage right. It looked like everyone was in agreement. The woman hugged Castiel, hugged Kevin, and the dancers walked off hand in hand.

Then Castiel waved at him. He must have known when Dean came in.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and started toward the stairs on the side of the thrust.

“No,” Dean said. “Stay there.”

Castiel stopped and Dean walked toward the stage.

It was easier, coming from here. He was still glad he’d eaten lunch a while ago. He stepped up on the stage and walked toward Castiel, who smiled at him like he was taking his first steps. Dean walked under the heat of the lights and hugged Castiel and Kevin could just stand there and wait.

“You made it,” Castiel said. “How do you feel?”

“Shaky.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“I’ll get another chair,” Kevin said, and darted off stage.

Dean sat down and breathed. “This time is easier.”

“Good,” Castiel said. “I’m glad you came to my rehearsal.”

“I’ll always come, if I can.” He’d always come. He didn’t know how long it would take to feel comfortable.

Kevin came back with a chair and three bottles of water. “Did you like the dance?”

“I thought Christmas recitals were supposed to be cheery.”

“It’s part of a whole sad collection of performances about loss that happens to fall in December,” Kevin said.

“What they’ve come up with is very beautiful,” Castiel said. “And its good for our performance grades.”

“Trade off. Technically simple, small group, accompanying other performers.”

“You’ve got a strategy.”

“I always have a strategy,” Kevin says. “Jo’s the brawn, Cas is the charm, and we get pretty much what we want.”

Dean smiled. “This isn’t so bad,” he said, waving his water bottle to mean the stage, the lights, the empty house.

“Really?”

“Naw, I wanna puke,” Dean said. “But it’s not as bad as I thought.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Dean.”

Kevin watched them and nodded slowly. “So, Cas. You and Dean, huh?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “His brother approves of me.”

“Good,” Kevin said. “What about your family?”

“Still working on it,” Dean said.

“He’ll be coming to the commune Christmas break for one of our celebrations.”

“Seriously?” Kevin asked. “I thought they would be unhappy about you … with Dean.”

“They are, a bit, but not in the way you mean. They didn’t disown me or throw me out. Mother’s vexed that I upset her plans, but she’s giving Dean a chance.”

“It’ll work out,” Kevin said. “I better go, I have to go help with youth orchestra. I’m teaching.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kevin.”

Kevin slung his cello into its case and left the stage.

“Are you still okay?”

“A bit dizzy,” Dean said. “What do you know about that dance? It looked like a love story, but that she was dying.”

“Then they did it right. Kirsten’s mother died recently. Breast cancer.”

“Shit. That’s terrible,” Dean said. “The dance was for her?”

“In part,” Castiel said, and looked up at the lights, thinking.

“There’s more.”

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly. “Kirsten had a test done to see if she carried the mutation on the gene that scientists think might be the hereditary link. They found it.”

“Oh no. But she’s so young.”

“Seventeen. Her partner is her sweetheart,” Castiel said quietly.

“That makes a little stage fright look pretty stupid, huh.”

“It’s not a little stage fright, and it’s not stupid. And you’re doing great,” Castiel said. “Still nauseous?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go?”

“No. Just, come here.” Dean held out his hand.

Castiel took it.

Dean imagined a crowd behind the lights, heard the coughing hum of murmured talk, the ripple of silence as the house lights dimmed. Imagined the rain of applause as the curtain raised.

His stomach lurched. He squeezed Castiel’s hand.

He spread his knees apart as if he had a cello with him, leaning casually at his left shoulder. He thought about holding his bow.

And that was enough. He opened his eyes and gasped for air. “I’m ok.”

“You’re okay,” Castiel agreed. “We can go, anytime you want.”

Let’s sit here for a bit longer,” Dean said. “I need to get used to this.”

“You want to get back on stage again?”

“I do,” Dean said. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Maybe come back to Lakeside. I’d be a year behind you.”

“You’d likely only have a partial year. You did pass everything but performance. You could come part-time, ease into it.”

“I want to audition, Cas.”

Castiel squeezed his hand. “What can I do to help?”

“I asked Aunt Ellen if she can pull strings so I can sneak onto this stage a few more times, try to get used to it. I want you to be there.”

“I can do that.”

“I mean it, Cas. I’ll be a 25 year old freshman.”

“I promise I won’t pick on you like the other upperclassmen.”

“I wish we could do it together.”

“We will be,” Castiel said. “We will do it together.”

****  
  



	34. Dynamic Level

Dean only remembered that hadn’t spoken to Lisa in weeks as her number came up on his phone.

“Lisa,” Dean answered. “Hey. I’m sorry, I’ve been—”

“Don’t tell me. You’ve been busy because you met someone.”

Dean scratched the back of his head, and smiled a sheepish smile Lisa couldn’t see. Busted. “Uh, yeah, that’s exactly it.”

“So you never call and you never write. You going to bring this play partner by?”

“I haven’t asked him,” Dean said. “Hang on.”

“He’s there? At 8:30 am? Are you living together?”

“It’s kind of a funny story,” Dean said, and walked into the music room where Castiel was practicing. “Cas, sorry. Want to ask you something.”

“One second,” Castiel said, and played to the end of the first movement of Beethoven’s [Sonata No. 13](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=79gzdskOGu4#t=4). He turned and saw that Dean had his phone in hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

Lisa’s voice sounded through the phone.

“Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker,” Dean said.

“I’ll say it again,” Lisa said. “Wow, Dean, be careful of those hands.”

“Always am,” Dean said. “Cas, the woman on the phone is Lisa Braeden. She’s my rope coach, and she’s giving me hell because I never call and I never write.”

“Hello, Ms. Braeden. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Listen to those manners,” Lisa said. “Lisa, please.”

“Lisa, that’s Castiel, and I interrupted his morning practice.”

“Well, let’s try to make this quick. I teach Dean how to tie people up. My focus is on suspensions. Dean hasn’t seen me in a while and I would like to see him, and meet you.”

“That would be interesting, Lisa. I think I’d like to meet you.”

“All right,” Dean said. “Usual meeting, or meet and greet?”

Castiel looked up at him, curious. “What’s a usual meeting?”

“Lisa and I usually meet to have lunch and go over the fine points of a pose. Sometimes we have one of Lisa’s friends for a model. Sometimes we don’t.”

“Would you want me to—”

“No,” Dean said. “Not until you felt comfortable. But if you wanted to see what a usual meeting looked like, I could model.”

“I think I would like to see what you do,” Castiel said.

“All right,” Lisa said. “Dean knows what to bring. When should we meet?”

“Sam will be here Friday night,” Castiel said. “And then the Watch is the next day.”

Dean motioned for Castiel to follow him to the kitchen. “How are your weekdays looking? Cas is doing exams so his schedule is light yet stressful.”

“Light yet stressful,” Lisa mused. “Castiel, if you don’t mind, you could be our model for a relaxation massage.”

“He might not go for that,” Dean handed the phone to Castiel to hold and got out a cutting board.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’d be just wearing running shorts.”

“That’s quite immodest,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded and chopped the tops off carrots. “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

“What do you wear to model for suspensions?” Castiel asked, and found a ginger root and a lemon in the fridge.

“Running leggings,” Dean said. “Sleeveless t-shirt.”

“That would be acceptable,” Castiel said.

“All those manners, and modest? You’re intriguing, Castiel.” Lisa’s tone was light, with a hint of laughter in her voice. “Which day will you need the relaxation?”

“I have a judged performance examination at 2 on Friday.”

“So, Thursday. Works for me,” Dean said. “Cas?”

“I accept.”

*

Castiel didn’t think that his exams would be quite so stressful, but when he found Dean walking away from Dr. Harvelle’s office, he was grateful to be able to just get a hug and be still for a minute.

“Okay?” Dean lifted Castiel’s chin up. Students eddied around them. Castiel caught someone looking back at them.

“I should have worn a tie,” Castiel said.

“Tomorrow. And Friday for sure,” Dean said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see Aunt Ellen.” Dean said. “And I knew where to find her.”

“Just to talk, on a Wednesday during exam week?”

“We spent a little time on the stage. Or I should say, I did. Alone. Aunt Ellen sat in the audience.”

Castiel felt a rush of pride. “How was it?”

“Awful,” Dean laughed. “But it gets easier every time. Next time, I think I want to bring my cello.”

“And play it?”

“I’m not sure I’ll get that far. But I want to hold it.”

“I’ll go with you if I can,” Castiel said. “It’ll be during winter break?”

“Not till January. But I’d like that.”

“I wish I had time,” Castiel said. “I’d go eat a falafel with you, but I have to do my ear training exam.”

“Will that one be hard?”

“No,” Castiel said. “It’s practical, and I expect it will be fun.”

“Is that your last test?”

“No, I have diatonics at three. Then I should be home.”

“I’ll make us some falafel,” Dean said. “Then tomorrow we go to Lisa’s.”

*

Lisa Braeden lived in a split-level in an area that had young trees and similar looking houses. There were so many cars on the road that Dean had to drive around the crescent shaped street to find a spot. Their walk back included neighbors content to allow pedestrians to risk themselves walking along their unshoveled sidewalks. Dean grumbled about that.

Lisa herself was a slim, pretty woman with long, dark hair and dark eyes with laugh lines. She had golden skin, like she’d managed to find what sunshine there was in December. She answered the door with a smile and a hug for Dean, and a handshake for Castiel. “I’m glad you could make it.” She was serene and confident, and Castiel thought that he already liked her.

“Nearly broke my neck walking here.”

“We have a bunch of students living on this street now,” Lisa said. “They spend their youthful energy on beer pong, not shoveling walks.”

She took their coats, slipping scarves inside one arm of the coat, tucked hats and gloves in pockets. “There’s some slippers in the basket. The floors downstairs are cold.”

The slippers were felted, Castiel saw. The natural colors and familiar shape were a bit of home.

Castiel followed Lisa downstairs to a door she kept locked. It opened to a room with those same hitch rings Dean had in his bedroom mounted into the ceiling and two of the walls, the third accomodating a closet and a door to a powder room. The fourth wall had floor to ceiling mirrors.

“This is the best place to do yoga,” Lisa said.

“It looks like a dance classroom,” Castiel said.

“Because of the mirror,” Dean said. “I thought about it for my room, but I don’t think it would have the same effect.”

“Because of the window,” Castiel agreed.

“You sleep in your bondage palace, Dean,” Lisa laughed, and Castiel looked at Dean again. It was a secret, but this woman knew.  “Mine’s downstairs, like a proper dungeon.”

Castiel simply had to ask. “How did you know?”

“Dean asked for my help in planning the space when he renovated it,” Lisa said. “I’ve had my studio for a few years now.”

“Lisa, how did you start doing this?”

“I answered an ad for someone looking for athletic models. The pay was right, so I decided to give it a try. I thought it would be like vintage pin-up, Bettie Page, but it turned out to be… hold on. I’ve got the pictures. Grab some floor.”

They were beautiful.

Lisa had posed in shiny black satin underwear in the first pictures, but the ropes wound around her, lifting legs into high arabesques, or curving her body into sinuous lines were an exploration of form and line. Castiel went through the whole book, lingering over the black and white photographs.

“These are amazing.”

“My misspent youth,” Lisa laughed. “I really enjoyed it. I wound up discovering that I prefered to be the one tying the ropes not long after that. I learned everything I could. I met Dean here a few years back, when I was giving a demonstration at a play party.”

“What’s that?” Castiel asked.

“He doesn’t know anything about the scene at all,” Dean said.

“They’re occasions where people who are interested in bondage and other activities get together. The equipment for a lot of BDSM play can get pretty expensive, and there’s a community of people who get together to meet for dinner and socialize.”

“I don’t really go in for the socializing part,” Dean explained.

“Dean wouldn’t have even been at that party if it hadn’t been for his…wait. Have you told him about Cassie? You don’t talk about your past relationships much.”

Castiel looked between Dean and Lisa. Dean had barely mentioned Cassie.

“Tender ground, still?” Lisa asked

“Not really.” Dean said. “I may as well explain.”

“Dean,” Castiel put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know,” Dean said, and covered Castiel’s hand. “Here we go. A few years ago I met this girl, and she was great, and she’s kinda kink famous now.”

“And that’s why they broke up,” Lisa explained.

“Because of her fame?” Castiel asked.

“Cassie wanted a career in the business,” Lisa said. “There are people who produce books, instructional videos, perform shows, do public speaking. Cassie was a ballerina, and there’s an especial appeal to the aesthetic of ballet and bondage combined. She wanted to make a living at it.  Dean… didn’t want that.”

“So she chose her career ambitions over you,” Castiel said. “Different shores.”

“Exactly,” Dean said. “But no harm done. It was years ago. I barely even see her around.”

Castiel wasn’t sure that was true. “But you met Lisa because of her.”

“Yes. She wanted me to meet Lisa to learn complex rope bondage with her. She wanted us to be partners, to do the demonstrations and public speaking and touring together. I didn’t know that, at the time.”

“But it came out. And when Dean made it clear that he wanted to keep his lifestyle private, Cassie dumped him.”

“She had ambitions I didn’t share,” Dean said. “And she knew I wouldn’t go in for her having a working partner strictly for show business reasons.”

“She dumped him,” Lisa repeated, “and went looking for someone else. He’s nowhere near as good looking as Dean.”

“Dean is very beautiful,” Castiel agreed.

Dean scowled at the compliments. “Come on. I was what, twenty-two? I didn’t know what I wanted out of life. Cassie did.”

“You didn’t want to take something deeply personal and perform it before an audience,” Lisa grumbled.

Dean stared. “You’re still mad at her.”

“She hurt you,” Lisa said. “I understand that she’s doing what she loves, but she could have handled her thing with you a lot better.”

“Yes, but no,” Dean said. “You know why I’ve never gone along with you for demos at local parties.”

“I do. I expect your Castiel knows.”

“He does,” Dean said. “I’m working on it.”

“Are you,” Lisa said, and looked at Castiel. “Your doing?”

“I can’t take credit for Dean’s work,” Castiel said. “He’s the one doing it.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Lisa said. “Now Dean, how about we slip you into something less comfortable?”

Lisa taught Castiel the basics, using bright blue climbing rope and Dean as their model. Castiel enjoyed Lisa’s teaching. She was open, honest, and funny. She never did anything without asking for Dean’s consent. She checked in with him, even for the very basic ties Dean demonstrated.

“It’s good for you to know exactly how a safe tie works,” Lisa said. “Even though Dean won’t let you within a mile of a party.”

“I don’t think it’s really our thing.”

“You’d have to beat the Dommes off with a stick. Both of you,” Lisa said. “Besides, Dean tends to get possessive.”

“I’ve noticed,” Castiel said. “I reassure him when it happens.”

“There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to share,” Dean grumbled.

“I won’t argue that,” Lisa said. “If you’re monogamous, then that’s all there is to it.”

Castiel looked at Lisa. “I don’t understand.”

“I have multiple lovers,” Lisa said. “They all know about each other, everything is out in the open. I live alone because I prefer it.”

“That must get difficult sometimes.”

“It can,” Lisa said. “But all my girls are worth it.”

Castiel checked on Dean’s ankles, pressed his thumbs into the arches of Dean’s feet, and he twitched. “Toes are red. Tingling?”

“Some.”

“You never said,” Cas scolded.

“It’s not bad,” Dean said. “I’m not a creampuff.”

“You have more time if his legs aren’t raised,” Lisa said. “And this pose is the start of a partial suspension tie, a useful one for sensation play. Dean, is it all right to show him?”

“Go ahead.”

“I cheat,” Lisa explained, and slid a carabiner into the ropes. “Dean would do this with the rope and probably a one ended prusik.”

“Noose knot. Prusik’s for the other end,” Dean said

“That would be pretty,” Lisa agreed. “You use the crossing lines that help you isolate the ankles and give you a safer place to knot, and if you suspend from there, the whole tie takes the weight.”

Castiel watched as Lisa fastened the suspending line. “So this isn’t for lifting off the ground.”

“It would need a lot more support, but it’s fine for lifting about this much.”

Lisa pulled on the line, and Dean’s legs rose. “This isn’t a terribly secure hitch, just a slipknot. You’d never rely on this on a full suspension. But you can check comfort, add back support with a pillow…”

Castiel propped up Dean’s hips with a pillow. “Still ok?”

“Still fine.”

“Anywhere hurt?”

“No, but my feet are tingling more.”

“Can you handle five more minutes?” Lisa asked.

“Easily.”

“Good. So, a lot of possibilities for this pose,” Lisa said. “What do you see?”

“Backs of the legs and soles of the feet are exposed,” Castiel said. “He’ll tickle me.”

“Oh I wouldn’t,” Dean said. “Much.” Cas shot him a look, and Dean grinned at him.

“Are you ticklish too, Dean?” Castiel threatened his feet with crooked fingers.

“Hey now.”

“Oh look, comeuppance,” Lisa said.

“If I do, he’ll take revenge.” Castiel put his hands down.

“I will,” Dean said. “Avenged threefold.”

“So I better not,” Castiel said. “I’m really ticklish.”

“Alright, since Dean won’t quit topping for even two minutes.” She crouched down and motioned Castiel to do the same.

“Okay if I handle your butt, Dean?”

“Define handle.”

“I’m not going to spank you, just point out some anatomy.”

“Sure.”

“What about anatomy?” Castiel asked. This pose was very...suggestive. Castiel pictured himself tied like this.

He liked it. He wanted to.

“You with me?” Lisa asked.

“I--yes. I was just thinking,” he said, and Lisa’s knowing look made him blush.

“This is also the most intense position for spanking,” Lisa said. “The full area of the sit spot is exposed, so it gets more attention than other spanking positions. The buttocks are stretched some, making for less cushioning around the fullest part. That increases sensation.”

“We’ve never done that,” Castiel said. “Dean, is that something we ought to do?”

Dean made a thoughtful face. “Does it do anything for you?”

Castiel considered it. “Maybe if I felt really guilty about something.”

“I’ll remember that, if you ever feel really guilty about something,” Dean said. “What else do you see?”

“You could tie hands to knees, or I should say just below or just above.” He could struggle in that. Try to kick. his legs were strong. Dean would have to bind him very well.

And he would.

“Also correct,” Dean said. “What else?”

Castiel looked to Lisa, hoping for help, but she smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said.

“It’s also an interesting position for sex,” Dean said.

“Oh. Oh,” Castiel said.

“Gonna run home and try it?” Lisa said with a laugh.

Castiel’s face was hot. “Dean.”

“Okay, I think Cas hit his limit. Show him how to take me down.”

****  
  
  
  
  



	35. The Watch, First Movement; Les Lanciers

The day of the Watch of the Longest Night brought freezing weather and cloudy skies. Castiel was thoughtful throughout the day. He helped with lunch, made the afternoon coffee, and finally slipped into the music room to play. Dean bet it would be Beethoven, his favorite.

Dean heard the [tempestuous sounds of the sonata](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8THsjcAMdI), and wondered if Cas’s choice was deliberate or unconscious. The first movement rumbled with menace.

He went into the music room to watch and listen. Sam followed after, and they sat down silently, not wanting to interrupt. Castiel crossed to play treble notes with the left hand, his expression one of calm listening. He looked like the music poured through him and out of his hands, completely at peace above the thunder and the pressure of anticipating the next crash.

When he came back to resting position, hands on thighs, he turned his face up. He smiled, and blinked when he saw Dean in his listening chair.

“Hello, Dean.”

“I love watching you play,”  Dean said.

“Sonata 17, Cas. Is that foreshadowing?” Sam asked.

“It’s … a characterization,” Castiel said. “We should eat something and head out. Sundown’s coming.”

 

Castiel advised them to wear layers.

“We dance in the hall,” Castiel said. “It starts out pretty cold, and then it warms up. Mother will have things like fingerless gloves, there will be hot cider and plenty to eat.”

Castiel was still bringing something: cookies filled with dried chopped fruit and nut paste sweetened with honey. He’d made an extra tray and hid the pie box full of cookies in his room.

So they’d dressed carefully, with plenty of thin layers, and drove out to the commune.

Dean brought his cello, and Sam brought his fiddle to fill the back seat while they all rode up front - Sam in his usual place on the passenger side, Castiel with his knees up high in the middle seat. Dean drove Baby and apologized for all the salt that was slowly eating away at her undercarriage.

“You could store her in the winter,” Sam said.

“Don’t listen to him, Baby,” Dean said, and petted the dashboard. “He doesn’t understand us.”

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You and this car.”

“Dean is very attached to his car, Sam,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “I just have to troll him sometimes.”

 

The hall was still chilly when they got there. Castiel, Dean, and Sam were welcomed, and Dean’s cello was raised up to the loft where the musicians played to the dancers below.

Sam climbed the ladder to the musician’s loft and started introducing himself. He got a cup of cider and listened to the next dance while his violin warmed up.

“Inias isn’t up there,” Dean said.

“He’s probably speaking to Anna,” Castiel said.

“What do you suppose they’re saying to each other?”

“It could be anything. Inias might tell me. He might not.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Of course I am,” Castiel said. “But if I need to know, I’ll hear of it.”

 

Castiel danced one Lancers with Hester, and whirled little Lilith through the air while she shrieked in joy. Castiel carried her on his hip the way he had when she was just three, but she insisted on dancing on her own feet now that she was much older.

“You didn’t come to our name day, Castiel.”

“I’m sorry, Lilith. I had to perform that day.”

“And I didn’t save you a honeycake.”

“It would have been stale anyway.”

“Will you come to our name day next year?”

“I will.”

“It’s so far away,” Lilith said. “You’ve been gone for so long.”

“And I miss you, little Lulu.”

“And you didn’t tell me that my new dress was pretty.”

“It’s very pretty,” Castiel said. “Hush a moment.”

Naomi had found Dean, and they were walking away together. “All right then. Let’s have some cider and you can teach me to dance.”

“You know how to dance!” Lilith said.

“Nope, I forgot.” Castiel stumbled around clumsily.

“Because you were gone for so long,” Lilith pouted at him. “You should stay.”

“I went away to learn, Lulu.”

“Then you should come back more and teach me.”

He should. Perhaps they should come calling, once a month or every other week.

Castiel watched the hall doors, but he knew Mother and Dean wouldn’t be coming back yet.

 

Dean followed Naomi Bauer outside. She didn’t speak until they were away from the barn. She walked slowly, dressed for the cold clear weather wrapped in layers of wool, springy and scratchy as the mittens Dean wore, lined inside with loose fleece.

When Naomi did speak, she went straight to the heart. “Did you seduce my boy, Dean Winchester?”

“Michael.”

“Pardon?”

“My middle name is Michael. And I didn’t try to. It didn’t happen like that.”

“He’s got a wild heart,” Naomi said.

They walked together along a track worn down by the passing of many feet, the path flanked on either side by knee-high snow.

“He’s got a big heart.”

“He’s never been hurt,” Naomi said.

“I can’t say that I’ll never hurt him,” Dean said. “But I don’t want to.”

Naomi Bauer looked at the path ahead of them. “And what will you do, Dean Michael? Will you tire of him, and send him back to me weeping?”

“Mrs. Bauer, I don’t want to harm a hair on his head. You think your son is special. I know he is. He’s like no one I’ve met. I think he’s amazing.”

Naomi let that settle in a few moments of quiet. Her skirts caught along the snow on the side of the path, and she  shook them every few paces, but snow was sticking to her hem. “You play music too, but you don’t go to that school.”

“I would have been in graduate studies,” Dean said.

“Why didn’t you go?”

“I couldn’t fulfill the performance requirements. I — have you ever been so scared of something you can’t even think straight about it?”

That question made Mrs. Bauer turn her head to give Dean a searching look. “A thing or two,” Naomi said.

“When I was young, I performed on stage a lot. With my brother. And then something happened and I just… couldn’t. Because of fear like that.”

“And will you face it, Dean Michael?”

“I’m working on it,” Dean said. “Castiel’s helping me.”

Naomi turned her gaze back to the path. “He can’t be your stick to lean on.”

“I don’t want that,” Dean said. “Sometimes he leans on me, sometimes I lean on him.”

“And in twenty years, Dean Michael? Where are you then?”

“With him,” Dean said. “I never want to let him go.”

“You’ll have no children.”

“Nieces and nephews.” He thought that little girl who stuck to Castiel like a burr was probably a niece.

“You’ll have no children,” Naomi repeated. “No family.”

“Cas is my family,” Dean said. “Cas and Sam.”

“Already.”

“Yes,” Dean said. “I never thought it out like that, but yes.”

Naomi stopped walking, turned to face him, her hands on her hips. “Castiel has a family.”

Dean shoved his mittened hands in his pockets and braced himself against the cold. She wanted to protect Castiel. He was an Outsider, full of secrets and hurtful ways. He knew that. But he had to take a moment before he answered.

“Maybe one day they’ll have me too. But if not, Cas is my family. Castiel and Sam. My brother and my-partner. And he will have you, even if you won’t have me.”

“You won’t keep him from us.”

“I’ll drive him here whenever he wants, pick him up, let him borrow my car so he can come alone. I won’t keep him from you.”

“What do you want, Dean Michael Winchester?”

“Your blessing,” Dean said. “Castiel needs it. I want it. But I’ll live without it. I’ve never known anyone like him.”

Naomi Bauer considered him, watched his face, dark eyes searching for lies. Dean didn’t know what she could see, but he hoped that she saw what he meant.

Then she pointed toward the path with a nod of her head, and they walked together through the cold clear air.

“Tell me about Castiel,” Naomi said. “Talk to me of him.”

“Castiel is patient, kind, loyal and strong,” Dean said. “He tells the truth. He works hard. He isn’t naive, but there are some things that he sees so differently from me he makes me see everything differently. He’s talented. He’s beautiful. He fits.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t know if you know this. The day of the piano soloist competition. Did you know that the woman who came before him stole the song he’d worked on, to humiliate him?”

“It wasn’t a misprint on the program? He’d never told me.”

“He’d probably never tell you,” Dean said.

He told her about Castiel sight-reading Meg’s song. He told her about how he and Sam had supported him through that. He told her about how Castiel had started exposing him to his fear of the stage. Told her about cooking with him, their breakfasts, their little habits together. He told her about showing Castiel the movies for the Lord of the Rings. About finding more music for Castiel to listen to, about discovery.

Naomi listened, and they walked a winding path between the outbuildings and the houses where the families lived, past a patch of ground iced over for skating, and back towards the hall. She stopped, well out of earshot of anyone who might walk out of the hall, out in the open where they could see anyone coming.

“You speak well of my son, Dean Michael Winchester. You speak of him with awe and respect and joy. But you don’t say that you love him.”

“I—haven’t said that to him,” Dean said.

“That’s a weight, Dean Michael. Someone put it on you and you carry it. But you have to decide when you can lay it down. My son will never expect you to tell him. He knows better than that.”

“I’ll tell him,” Dean said.

“No,” Naomi said. “You lay that stone down when you don’t need it any more, Dean Winchester. We all know the truth.” She walked toward the hall doors. “When is your naming day?”

“January 24th.”

“I’ll expect you both for Sunday dinner before then.”

 

Castiel couldn’t keep his eyes off the door. He watched it while he joined a contradance and barely heard Michael’s calling of the steps. The dancers thumped the rhythm on the wooden planks of the floor, clapped their hands, and made the figures that Michael called out.

Anna and Inias came through the doors first. Inias went straight to the music loft and didn’t look back. Anna disappeared in the crowd by the tables where food and drink waited to refresh the celebrants.

Anna saw him looking, but she shook her head and turned away.

_Not ready yet._  Castiel wondered what she’d said to Inias.

When the dance was over, he found a spot by the wall where he could see the doors open, waiting for Mother and Dean to come back.

He didn’t last long on the wall. Rebecca, Anna’s sister, came and claimed him. They stood in a square for a quadrille and waited to hear what the caller would set them to.

Rebecca stood beside him and turned her head toward the door. Naomi and Dean stepped through just when the music started.

“You did that on purpose, Rebecca Lynn.”

“Don’t you accuse me, Castiel Jeremiah. She’s got a right to speak to him. Now smile and dance with me.” She smiled at him, and Anna took Dean straight back outside again.

“Why did you abandon my sister for an Outsider?”

“Because I fell in love with him,” Castiel said. “Our match was arranged. Inias loves Anna.”

“And so what if he does? You were promised to each other.”

“Sometimes getting what you want is the worst thing that can happen to you.”

“Castiel, chasse out,” Rebecca reminded, and they danced around the square to meet at the head. “Why is Anna getting what she wants bad, but what you want good?”

“I love Dean,” Castiel said. “Would you tie your sister to a husband who loves someone else?”

Rebecca spun away to join the women on the inside circle, turning a quarter, and the men went the other, meeting each woman to spin them through to the next until Rebecca was at his side again.

“You’re right,” Rebecca said. “But she hurts.”

“And I’m sorry. If I could have spared her that I would have.”

“Why didn’t you tell her before that you didn’t love her?”

Castiel turned to the right, bowed to Rachel, and circled around her in a horseshoe before coming back to Rebecca. “There was no reason not to do my duty.”

“You’re a fool, Castiel Bauer. You really would have done your duty. You blockhead.”

“I deserve that.”

“You do,” Rebecca said.

The dance finished, and Castiel walked her back to the knot of women who stared at him with set jaws and unsmiling faces. He bowed and fled.

 

“I feel like I ought to hate you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean and Anna were barely away from the barn when she told him this. Maybe no one in the Children of God ever danced around the point when it came to the business of moving stones.

“My middle name is Michael.”

“Ruth,” she replied. “But really I just want to know how it happened. Did you fall in love right away?”

“No.”

“Is it carnal?”

“We try not to be.”

“You know each other,” Anna said.

“We’ve gotten to know each other. I’m still learning about him.”

Anna opened her mouth like she was going to say something, stared at him, and tried again. “He was promised to me. I was fifteen. My parents and his parents met and spoke to each other and decided that we would be happy together. Do you know what we do, after we’ve been promised to each other?”

“You start making the things you need for your house,” Dean said.

“So he told you that.”

“Yeah.”

“I made quilts. He knitted blankets. The yarn I gave him just before your Thanksgiving, that was yarn I’d put up to give him for a blanket. For us. For our house. For our life.”

“Anna, I am sorry.”

“And he doesn’t love me,” Anna said. “He loves you. I failed. Two  _years_.” She’d been holding on by her fingernails, but the dam broke, and Dean worried that the tears on hher face would freeze.

“Anna, I didn’t know, Anna, I’m so sorry.”

“How long did it take? He loves you. Even if he hasn’t told you yet, I know it. You know it too,” Anna sobbed.

“Anna,” Dean said. “We didn’t plan this. But even if I’d known, I don’t think that would have stopped us.”

“That would have made it something ugly. When did you kiss him? The first time.”

“October.”

“So, a month. You won him in a month. He smiled at me and paid me respect and careful manners and every courtesy, and he kissed you in a  _month_. I want to hate you, Dean Michael Winchester. You stole my husband.”

“So hit me.”

She looked up at him, shocked.

“That’s what you’d do outside. You’re so mad at me you want to hate me. Give it your best—”

All the air rushed out of him as Anna drove her fist into Dean’s stomach. He bent over, gasping for air, and his head rocked with her full-armed slap. She kicked his shin and he went down in the snow. It was over so fast.

“Now do you feel better, Dean Michael? Have you paid for him with your  _stupid_  Outsider catharsis? Am I supposed to feel better now, for bringing violence on you?”

“Anna,” Dean wheezed. His face stung hot in the cold air. “You can hate me forever. It’s your right.”

“No,” she said, and jabbed her finger at him. “Hate is poison. Wish no such thing on me, Dean Michael.”

“Anna Ruth Milton,” Dean said. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“Don’t let him go,” Anna said. “He loves you. Be worthy of it. Hold his heart like something precious. There are stones between us. I can’t pick them up. I am sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Save some time for me at the Watch next year,” Anna said. “I’ll try again then.”

“I will,” Dean said. “You have things to say to me.”

“I do,” she said, and turned away. “And one more thing.”

“What?”

“Whether you’re still with him or not, I expect you to be there.”

“I will.”

Dean listened to her footsteps crunch through the snow.

 


	36. The Watch, Second Movement; Miss Anna's Rant

Anna walked through the hall doors alone. Castiel wasn’t the only one who turned to look. Her colour was high, her eyes red. She’d been crying.

Dean wasn’t with her.

The door closed and opened again. Dean came in, favoring his right knee, his left cheek redder than the right, and people murmured at that. Gazes turned on Anna. Disapproving ones.

Dean caught up to Anna, murmured something in her ear, and she turned around. People were starting to gather close, asking questions.

But Dean put out his hand, and Anna shook it. Dean looked at the crowd and tried to look reassuring. Then he scrambled up the ladder to join Sam, who stared at him in confusion.

Dean took out his cello and tuned it. Was he going to—

Inias put a songbook on the stand in front of him, and Dean joined in the next dance.

He was playing. In a drafty hall, with dancers instead of a gazing, judging audience. He focused on his music and following the group, keeping his melodies simple rhythmic support.

Castiel wondered if he even realized what he was doing. He didn’t know if he should say anything or go up there or even what it meant that he’d chosen to play at all.

“Castiel,” Anna said. “It’s time.”

Castiel looked back one last time before leaving the hall.

*

“You hit Dean.”

Anna walked fast over the path. “He asked me to. He said it was an Outside custom. Stupid custom.”

Castiel matched her pace, trusting that he wouldn’t slip. “Did you settle things between you?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes one talk isn’t enough,” Anna said. “I shamed myself. I was so angry. He stole you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Anna stopped. Cas had to turn around and walk back a pace to where she fought tears. Her eyes glittered in the light, shiny with them. “But he couldn’t have done it if you loved me. Why didn’t you love me?” Her voice cracked. The tears spilled.

Castiel caught her up in a hug. Anna slumped into it.

“Because Inias did,” Castiel said.

“Is that the only reason?”

“It’s the first reason. I knew he loved you. When your parents and mine talked, I thought they were matching you and Inias. I was glad. But then they called me in, and I couldn’t say no.”

“And you couldn’t say yes.” Anna lifted her head and glared at him. “You were a coward, Castiel Jeremiah.”

“I was a coward, Anna Ruth.”

“Tell me why you love him.”

“Because he’s—I feel a pull to him, Anna. From the beginning, I wanted him to see me. To know me. I wanted to be near him. I wanted him to smile because of me. Everything that happened to me in a day became something to tell Dean.”

Anna listened.

“He plays the most beautiful music. He loves his house. He loves to cook. He’s funny. He can make small talk to anyone, but he keeps a shyness about him. He listens. He thinks of others. He’s so careful.”

“Oh God, help me,” she prayed, and it pierced Castiel’s heart.

“I’ll stop.”

She gripped his arms. “No. I need to hear it.”

Castiel didn’t know if she needed to hear it, or if she needed it to hurt her more. “He grew up with the kind of pain we never know. His mother died when he wasn’t quite five years old. His father married his despair and kept walking. It’s hard for him to trust. His friendly exterior is armor. But he tries to take it off, for me. He chooses to trust me.”

“Does he love you?”

“I think so.”

“But he hasn’t told you.”

“Does that matter?”

“I used to think that it didn’t matter that you hadn’t told me.”

“I thought that it would happen.”

“You were a fool.”

“I was a fool.”

“Why did you tell me about Inias?”

“Because he would never tell you. But he wanted you to see him. He wanted to be near you. Isn’t he near you, all the time? Isn’t he always ready to help, be it to wash your family’s dishes, to hold your yarn, to cheer you up? See him, Anna. Curse me for a coward, and see how brave he is.”

“Stop  _selling_  him to me. You can’t fix this.”

“I can’t fix what I’ve done, Anna Ruth,” Castiel said. “But before, I could only see what I thought he felt. Now, I think I know. Don’t turn from him. See him with new eyes.”

“I don’t need new eyes, Castiel. I need a new heart.”

He’d done this to her. He’d left her to grow her love of him while he said nothing, and now he was ripping that young tree out of the ground. You are a coward, Castiel Jeremiah. A coward and a fool.

The least he could do was be a real friend to her, finally.

“You need revelation,” Castiel said. “May I sit with you?”

“You may, Castiel Jeremiah.”

*

The chapel was lit by votive light, the circles of seats empty. Anna chose one on the center rim, where people sat when they felt the least connected. Castiel sat down beside her, and she took his hand.

They sat that way in silence for a while, then Anna said, “I have to let you go.”

“Yes.”

“We might have been content.”

“Yes.”

“Now that’s not enough.”

“No.”

“I wanted to marry you.”

“I know.”

“I wanted our house.”

“You did.”

“I set my life toward being your wife.”

“You would have been a good wife.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Anna Ruth.”

“I know who that was,” Anna said. “It weighs me down.”

Castiel knew what that meant. His heart wrenched. “Oh, Anna.”

She got up and opened the cabinet. “Help me, Castiel. I can’t reach.”

She held the shears in her hand. She gave them to Castiel, and turned her back.

Castiel squeezed the handles. The slicing crunched through the strands, like boots on snow. The shears were sharp. It took four strokes.

Castiel held Anna’s braid in his left hand. Anna combed her fingers through what was left. She found a bit of string in her pocket and tied the top of her cut off braid. She wound it in a ring and set it on the cabinet, and put the shears away. She turned back to Castiel, who waited.

“Hello, Anna.”

“Hello, Castiel,” she said.

“Do you want to sit for a while?”

“Yes.”

“Shall I sit with you?”

“No, thank you for asking,” Anna said. “Could you ask Inias to come and sit with me? I find I have things to say to him.”

“I will.”

*

Castiel came back to the hall alone.

Dean had gone up the ladder to the music loft just to have a place to escape. Where he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. He played to blend into the half-dozen players, fiddle and flute and a big double bass and a banjo, kept his music behind the others, and sat down in the back of the loft.

When Castiel came in, all heads turned. When he came alone, dancers misstepped. When he went up the ladder, the music faltered.

He was close enough that Dean could reach out and touch him. He slipped past Sam to speak to Inias, who listened, then gawked at Cas, open mouthed. But he put his fiddle away and was down the ladder, headed out of the hall.

The murmurs rose. Castiel stopped long enough to kiss Dean’s cheek before climbing down the ladder and wading into the small sea of the commune, breaking a path toward his mother.

“Should we try to play another?” Sam asked. “Or should we wait?”

“Let’s take a break,” the young banjo player said. “We’ve got no food up here, and I’m starving.”

“Hey,” Dean said. The banjo player looked at him. “I’m Dean Winchester.”

“Hello Dean. I’m Barnabas.”

“Barnabas, did we ruin the celebration for everyone, with all of this…”

“To-do?” Sam asked.

Barnabas smiled. “Oh no. There’s always a knotted problem that needs to come unraveled by this time of year. Guessed it would be Castiel.”

“You did?”

“Everyone expected it. He went Outside. That shakes things up. Don’t worry. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else. There’s all kinds of things getting settled tonight. Just Castiel’s business got the most notice.”

“Jenny’s courting Hester,” the double bass player broke in.

Dean turned his head to look at him, and the musician blushed.

“I’m Randall. I don’t mean to gossip. I just mean if it hadn’t been Castiel, it would have been Jenny and Hester stirring up all these mumbles. Don’t you worry. Watch night is just like this every year.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.”

“I expect you’ll get used to it,” Barnabas said.

*

It was full morning by the time Sam, Dean, and Castiel piled into the car. Dean guided Baby up the long drive back to the road.

“That actually went pretty well,” Castiel said.

“You’re serious,” Sam said. “I spent the whole night up in the loft—”

“You disappointed many of the sisters of the commune when you did that.”

“Well I don’t know any of the dances,” Sam said. “But the view from up there, let’s just say it was pretty interesting.”

“The Watch is often the most interesting night of the year, because of all the unsaid business that gets aired,” Castiel said. “Besides, if there hadn’t been business between Anna and me, the whole night would have focused on—”

“Jenny and Hester,” Dean said, and made the left turn back onto the two-lane highway. “We heard.”

“Yes, exactly.” Castiel said. “We’ve got to get you both dancing lessons. We do a lot of dancing at celebrations, and they will expect you, and you can’t hide up in the loft forever.”

“I notice there’s no piano in the loft,” Dean said.

“Pianos are home instruments,” Castiel explained. “Dancing music is flute and fiddle and hand-drum.”

“Reminds me,” Sam poked Castiel’s shoulder. “You’ve got to learn how to foxtrot and how to waltz.”

“I can waltz,” Castiel said. “And Viennese waltz, at that.”

“All right, foxtrot then. You might have to dance. At the Love of Music thing.”

“Oh crap, I forgot about the Love of Music thing,” Dean thumped the steering wheel. “Cas, they’re going to expect you to perform.”

“Sam and I agreed to do a duet.”

“Yeah, good,” Dean said.

“We could make it a trio,” Sam leaned forward so he could see Dean around Castiel. “In case you didn’t realize that you just performed in front of an audience.”

Dean waved it off. “Not the same. People were looking at me because I was the husband-stealing outsider, I went up there to hide.”

“You still played.”

“They were dancing, and no one could really see me because you were standing in front of me, Sasquatch.”

“But if you want to.”

“Not this time, Sammy. Next year, though.”

They drove past the lightly wooded fronts of private property, past the snow-dotted empty fields of Castiel’s neighbors. There were villages just out of sight of this road, gatherings of houses and families who took this same road to the Outside. Castiel used to feel adventure and danger and mysteries just out of reach when he was on it. Now it was a connection from him to Heaven, the way from one home to another.

“It did go pretty well,” Castiel said.

“Anna beat me up and cut off her hair,” Dean said.

“She wanted a new beginning,” Castiel said. “It’s custom.”

“We kinda have the same thing,” Sam shifted and stuck his big feet in front of Castiel’s, taking up most of the middle while trying to straighten his knees. “The post-breakup haircut.”

“It’s a signal to everyone that she’s rebuilding,” Castiel said. “And she danced with Inias.”

“So they’re getting together?” Dean spared him a glance but kept his eyes on the road.

“No. Dancing is done as a group. You can dance with your sweetheart or your spouse, but festival dancing isn’t romantic, and the Watch doesn’t have any waltzes. It just meant that she wasn’t going to ignore him any more, that she would be his friend.”

“So when do you waltz?”

“At weddings, on May eve.”

“May eve? Cas, we just had a solstice celebration and now you’re talking about celebrating on April 30. Let me guess. You celebrate the equinoxes, you have other celebrations in February, August, and November.”

“Yes.”

“That’s the neo-pagan calendar, Cas.”

“I said we were a cult. Our spiritual practice is a syncretism,” Castiel said. “It’s complicated.”

“Too complicated for me driving after being up all night,” Dean said. “Subject change. So what are you guys going to play?” Dean asked

“Beethoven,” Sam said.

They drove over the short bridge that ran over a fast moving creek, and Castiel marked the place where farms gave way to big houses on huge lawns, the isolated grandeur of the newly wealthy. They hadn’t spread to the land over the little bridge yet.

The wheels of the Impala bounced over the small drop where the bridge decking met apshalt.

Now they were Outside.

“Beethoven,” Castiel mused, and ran through melodies in his mind. “Yes. Sonata 5?”

“Exactly.”

“That will show you off.”

“They will want you to accompany the youth orchestra, we’re a major sponsor of that. You’re off the hook for the dance, they’ll book a Big Band for that.”

“That’s not enough for a concert.”

“They’ll handle the details. It’ll be pretty short. An hour, and then off to the nearby hotel for the dinner and dancing. Oh, and you’ll have to give a speech.”

“I have to what?”

“It doesn’t have to be long,” Sam said. “Just what a wonderful experience blah blah blah. They’ll write it for you even.”

“When was I actually going to hear about this?”

“Oh, probably pretty soon,” Sam said.

*

They made it home safely. Sam went straight up to bed, mumbling that he’d only take a nap. Dean led them upstairs, and asked, “Your room?”

“Sam said we should stay in yours.”

“It just seems right,” Dean said. “It’s just for a sleep.”

They undressed and Castiel slid into bed first, letting Dean have the edge. Castiel folded Dean into his arms and stroked his back. “You had a busy night, last night.”

“Yeah. Busy’s a word for it.”

“You really told Anna to hit you?”

“I didn’t think she’d kick my ass,” Dean grumbled. “She dropped me before I even knew what was going on. I thought you were nonviolent.”

“We are. She was angry at you.”

“I feel bad.”

“I do too, Dean. It was my fault, not yours.”

They rested together, just breathing in time. Castiel wondered if Dean had already fallen asleep, and rubbed his back.

“Feels good.”

“Dean, you never said anything of what my mother said to you.”

“Oh.” Dean curled closer. “She asked me if I was going to hurt you and cast you aside.”

“Are you?” Castiel’s smile warmed his voice.

“No,” Dean said. His hand drifted down Castiel’s back, skimmed over his hip. “She asked me to tell her about you. I did my best to keep it … mannered, I guess.”

“Which isn’t what she wanted to hear,” Cas said.

“She did that thing when she just let me ramble. I told her about your skin, Cas. I told her about kissing you. I thought I’d fucked it up royally. But she just kept listening.”

He fell silent, then. Castiel stayed quiet, until Dean said, “I think she understands that we’re … sleeping together.”

“She probably suspected that you knew me.”

“Of course I know you,” Dean said. “Wait. Anna said that too. Does that mean--”

“Lovemaking,” Castiel said. “Yes.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” Dean said.

“Did my mother say anything else?”

“Uh, yeah. She told me that she wanted us to come for Sunday dinner before my naming day.”

Castiel sighed in relief and hugged him. “That’s good.”

Dean hugged back and asked, “What’s good?”

“If she wants you to come for Sunday dinner then she wants to see us together,” Castiel lifted his head and kissed Dean’s shoulder. “She’s accepted my choice.”

“That’s it? I’m in?” Dean grinned wide and happy.

“Well, the door is open. You still have to impress her,” Castiel said. “But she’s willing to let you try.”

“Awesome.”

Dean rolled Castiel over on his back and Cas hoped that Sam was a sound sleeper.

 


	37. Wassail

Castiel was the first out of bed on Christmas morning, at the piano to practice. He’d gotten through the first of Chopin’s Nocturnes by the time Sam and Dean were up and moving around.

Sam came into the music room, sat in one of the listening chairs and stayed quiet.

Castiel took his hands off the piano and turned to face Sam. He really appreciated the habit of both Winchesters to wait for a pause in the music or to the end of a movement before trying to talk to him. “Good morning, Sam. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Cas. Dean’s—”

The roar of the juicer started.

“—awake,” Sam finished. “You want coffee?”

“Definitely,” Cas said.

“I’ll go make some,” Sam said, and soon the burr grinder joined the juicer. Cas smiled and trilled out the lilting near-waltz of the second movement.

*

“I heard there was coffee,” Castiel said, and Sam poured him a cup.

“Juice is all fruit today, you big babies,” Dean said.

“Thank you, Dean. Merry Christmas.” The oven timer started beeping and Castiel switched the oven off, and took out a casserole dish. “Baked omelet! I get the favorite breakfast. Thank you.”

“Waffles tomorrow,” Sam said.

“Sausage, eggs, and hashbrowns the day after,” Dean said.

“That’s dinner at the Harvelle’s?” Cas asked.

“Yup.”

“I’m still feeling strange about that. Dr. Harvelle is my teacher.”

“We’ve had Christmas week dinner at the Harvelle’s every time we were here to do it. Besides, Aunt Ellen likes you. And Jo’s your friend.” Sam drank some of his juice, savoring it slowly.

“What will we do?”

“Eat a nice dinner, the grownups will drink more than one glass of wine—”

“You too Cas, I’m driving,” Sam said.

“And then we will get revenge for last year’s Uno game.”

“What’s Uno?”

“Oh this is gonna be good,” Sam said.

*

There were more presents under the tree now then there was when Castiel had gone to bed. “Where’d they come from?”

“Santa,” Dean said, and handed Castiel a box. “See, it says so on the box.”

It did clearly read, “to Castiel from Santa,” but it was in Sam’s handwriting. Castiel fought a surge of worry. “I only got you one present each.”

“Look at it this way,” Sam said. “This is your first Christmas. Traditionally you are supposed to get a ton of gifts on your first Christmas. We’ve had a bunch of Christmases so we don’t need a lot.”

“It’s tradition?”

“It’s tradition,” Dean agreed. “What did Santa get you?”

Castiel opened the long, narrow box. Inside was a gold tie, double-striped in black. Castiel held it against his chest. “This is excellent. I have my own House tie.”

“Santa has fantastic taste in ties,” Sam said.

“Sam, this one’s for you,” Dean said.

Sam read the tag. “It’s from Cas.” He opened it. “Oh Cas, wow.”

He took out a hand-knitted beanie of pale gray, with raised lines of celtic interlocking cables. “It’s…this looks really hard to make.” he put it on his head. “Perfect fit. This is the best hat. Dean!” Sam crowed.  “I got a hat and you didn’t.”

Dean scowled and snatched at Sam’s head. “How do you know I didn’t get a hat? I probably got six hats.”

Sam leaned back, laughing. “You didn’t make Dean a hat did you?”

“I didn’t make Dean a hat.”

“Yes!” Sam raised his arms in victory.

“But I did make Dean more than one thing.”

“Ha!” Dean pawed through the presents. “Mine’s bigger.”

“Did you make him a scarf?”

“He’ll have to open it.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “This is great, thank you. I know you knit me something and you had to do it when I wasn’t around to see what you made, because I never saw Sam’s hat.”

“You haven’t even opened it yet,” Sam said.

“Okay, wow, give me a second.”

Dean carefully opened the paper just to make Sam grumble. Castiel waited, watching Dean’s face. Suddenly he had doubts about what he’d made.

“Socks,” Dean said.

They ranged in colour from undyed white to nearly black, each a different blend of spun fleece. They were the same pattern that Castiel always made for his socks, but instead of bearing a red stripe at the top cuff, all seven pairs of socks for Dean were topped with deep spruce green.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good gift after all.

Dean took out each one, unfolded it, and turned them over in his hands. “Cas,” Dean said. “You made me socks. Sam, I got socks and you didn’t.”

Sam laughed and took his hat off, studying the crossed lines of knitting.

Castiel watched Dean look at each pair. “Yes, I made you socks.”

“All those socks you were always working on, you were making them for me. From your stash of the yarn that you spun yourself before you came. This took you months.”

“Yes.”

“You make socks for your family.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean said, and wrapping paper got caught between them.

“I’m still here,” Sam said.

“Sammy, we’re having a moment,” Dean said. “Isn’t your coffee cold or something?”

*

Castiel had four new shirts and seven new ties by the time all the wrapping paper was stowed into garbage bags. He also had chocolate, candies, scented soap, new leather gloves, and enough cashmere blend yarn to make a sweater big enough to fit Sam. It was so soft he couldn’t stop touching it. “Sam, you shouldn’t have bought all this yarn.”

“Yes I should,” Sam said. “This hat is genius.”

Dean wore the nearly black pair of hand-knit socks. “That’s a nice brown. What do they call it?”

“Bison,” Castiel said.

“I asked for enough to make a sweater to fit me,” Sam said, “But that was just so I would buy enough. I don’t want you to make me a sweater. I wouldn’t complain, I just wanted enough so you could make one.”

“I usually don’t make sweaters,” Castiel said. “I thought I wasn’t going to make one this season.”

“Well, now you can,” Sam said.

Sam would stay in bed until Cas had knocked off the piano and the juicer quit chugging away, so Dean slipped into the music room once the oats were simmering.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel said. He didn’t stop playing, but he did lift his chin and look toward him expectantly.

Dean felt a little surge of triumph when Castiel did quit playing to pay his good morning kiss a little more attention. “Good morning to you.”

“Are you inviting me upstairs?”

“I just wanted to tell you something. Before Sam gets up and pokes his nose into everything we’re doing.”

“What is it? Is it about going to Doctor Harvelle’s house?”

“Ellen.”

“That’s so strange. I can’t call her that. She’s my teacher.”

“She’ll make you. Anyway,” Dean said. “Sam’s driving tonight. So I’m probably going to be a bit sauced. Ellen pours screwdrivers with a heavy hand.”

“All right, Dean.”

“And I’m arranging drunk sex in advance. I want to come home drunk and get you in bed.”

“And you’re telling me now because you want to make sure I can’t wait to get home?”

“Partly. Cas. This thing we do, with the ropes and stuff. I like to make sure that nobody’s doing anything that they don’t want to, so I like to ask about things other people probably wouldn’t.”

“I like that you ask me,” Castiel said. “It’s respectful. Do you want to use ropes tonight?”

“I never play drunk, so that’s off the table.”

“Okay. Anything else off the table?”

“Everything we haven’t done yet.”

“I agree,” Castiel said. “It’s a date, Dean.”

“I’m walking down the stairs!” Sam announced. “Cas, quit kissing my brother.”

“We’re just talking,” Dean called back.

“Oh, I believe you,” Sam said. “This juice. It looks like mud. How do you make the ugliest juice.”

“Pure talent,” Dean said.

“Cas, what are you cosplaying for Charlie’s party?”

“Dean has wizarding robes. I’m just going to go as a Hufflepuff.”

“Not allowed. You can’t go as you. Be a Slytherin.”

“But they’re wicked.”

“So be wicked,” Sam said. “You guys have your own hotel room.”

Dean put up his hand. “I approve of this.”

“You’re still not telling what your costume is?”

“Still not.”

“Dean?”

“Nope.”

Castiel gulped down his juice and blinked. “That’s a lot better tasting than it looks. There’s blueberries in it.”

“So that’s why it looks ugly,” Sam said, and tried it.

 

They spent the day exchanging songs, taking turns performing for each other. Dean scoffed openly at a melody Sam played. It sounded familiar, but Castiel couldn’t place the composer. They argued about its merits (or its popular appeal opposed to Dean’s scorn.)

“What are you arguing about?”

“Arranging this song for our trio,” Sam said.

“It’s pop music,” Dean said.

“And you dislike pop,” Castiel said. “But there was interesting emotion in the melody Sam played. The lyric?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it about?”

“Falling for the wrong guy,” Sam said.

“Infatuation lost before it faded,” Dean said.

“That’s been a theme of popular music for centuries,” Castiel said. “Why don’t we arrange it? It could be fun.”

“I’ll send you the song,” Sam said. “I think you’re the best of us when it comes to doing arrangements.”

“I’d like to try it, Dean,” Castiel said.

“All right,” Dean said. “Under protest, though. And we should be getting ready.”

 

Castiel knocked on Dean’s bedroom door with a green tie in hand.

“It’s casual, Cas.”

“If it’s casual you won’t be able to tie my tie for me.”

“One sec. Sam!” Dean hollered, and draped the tie around Castiel’s neck.

“What?”

“Are you wearing a tie?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Both of you overdress,” Dean grumbled. “Fine,” he yelled back.

But when he got the ends of Castiel’s tie in his hands and saw how Cas lifted his chin, a smile curled his mouth. Castiel remembered what Dean had asked him earlier.

“Do you know what I like besides you tying my ties?”

“Me untying your ties,” Dean winked.

 

Ellen Harvelle lived in a house that was very different from Dean’s. It was made of simple rectangular shapes and huge slabs of glass windows and everything inside it looked a bit like it was on display.

Sam walked up to the front door and let himself in. “Aunt Ellen!” he called out. “We’re here.”

Castiel looked to Dean for reassurance, and Dean showed him inside. “We’ve been running in and out of this house since we were kids.”

Castiel saw all the shoes lined up in the foyer and took his off. “Thank you for your invitation, Dr. Harvelle,” he called.

“Castiel, you are about to sit at my table and have leftover turkey casserole and play noisy card games while drinking. I’m Ellen when you’re in my house.”

“We tried to tell him, Aunt Ellen,” Sam said.

“Well never mind that, let’s get you fixed up. Sam, you have the keys. It’s ginger ale for you. Dean. What are you drinking?”

“You’re having a screwdriver?”

“I can make you one. Castiel. What’ll you have?”

“I should have a ginger ale too. I’m still underage.”

“Ginger ale and wine with dinner,” Ellen Harvelle said. She looked very pretty, in a deep blue-green dress with a wide neck and her hair up. “Jo’s playing a command performance in the library.”

Sam led the way to the back of the house, where Jo played her violin for a middle aged man who balanced a short glass of amber liquid in the cradle of his fingers. He had sandy hair and a full, tidy beard.

Jo was playing a [gavotte](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb3LAzCABsM) that Dean recognized, and Sam had to know it too, as he played it a hundred times on stage as a kid.

Jo bowed the last measure and said, “I still remember it.”

“It’s still my favorite. Hey, boys.”

“Uncle Bobby,” Dean said. “I don’t know if you met Castiel Bauer?”

“Only seen him on paper,” Bobby said, and got up to shake Castiel’s hand.

“Cas, this is Bobby Singer. He’s a major contributor to the Campbell Foundation, and is on the selection committee for the Campbell Scholarship.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Singer.”

“You have to call me Bobby, I insist. Heard about the trouble you handled at the solo piano competition. Well played, boy. Ellen told me all about it.”

“Thank you. I was grateful to Dr. Harvelle—”

“Ellen!” Ellen said. “What did I tell you, kid? Bobby, hon, do you want another?”

“I want another,” Bobby agreed. “That damn Englishman is driving me to drink.”

“What, the new guy?” Dean asked.

“Crowley,” Bobby confirmed with a sour look. “I shouldn’t complain, I donated my way onto the board too, but the man chaps my hide.”

“He’s just trying to bring in the exchange program,” Ellen said. “Just like you wanted to sponsor the youth orchestra. And the move did attract more sponsors.”

“Is he fixated on money? He knows we’re a charitable foundation, right?” Sam asked.

“It’s not the money,” Ellen said. “It’s the idea that he can build prestige.”

“He was with the Royal Academy of Music?” Dean asks.

“Yes. They should have an emergency, and call him back,” Bobby grumbled.

“What I can’t understand is why anyone attending school in London would want to come here,” Dean said. “Juilliard, sure, New York’s a world class city too. But Lakeside?”

“Well maybe you can ask him at the Love of Music event,” Bobby said. “But first, how did Castiel happen to meet…”

Bobby looked at the three of them, and decided on, “Dean?”

“He advertised for a music student to rent a room in his house,” Castiel said. “It was a vast improvement on the first year residence.”

“He passed the audition,” Dean said. “He treated Grandma’s piano right. Turns out he bakes better bread than I do, makes socks—”

Dean wiggled his toes when Bobby looked .

“Sounds like you boys are getting along,” Bobby said. “I remember something about your application, Castiel. Didn’t you come from a Mennonite colony?”

“The Children of God are not Mennonites,” Castiel said. “Though they make good neighbors and influenced the commune in the early 70’s.”

“Wait, commune? You mean hippies?”

“Hippies who found God,” Sam said. “That’s what I called it.”

“I suppose it’s close enough,” Castiel said. “It’s more complex than that, of course.”

“Come on, you lot, bring that to the table.”

 

Dinner was fantastic. Dean had cooked a roast beef for christmas, so Castiel got to meet creative Christmas turkey leftovers with gusto.

Ellen’s turkey casserole had a lot in common with casseroles in Heaven. It was made of layers - turkey in creamy mushroom sauce served on top of leftover dressing, topped with mashed potatoes and gravy. Ellen added a green salad, and Sam finished the last of it eagerly.

“How’d you grow so huge living on rabbit food, boy?” Bobby asked.

“I just like it,” Sam said.

“You couldn’t let him near a garden,” Ellen said. “he’d march right in, yank a carrot out of the ground, wipe it off and eat it.”

“Carrots are good raw,” Sam protested.

“Is it time for dessert?” Dean asked.

“Help me clear the table and it can be,” Ellen said. “Not you, Castiel. You sit.”

The wine had helped Castiel feel a bit more relaxed. “Okay, Ellen.”

Dean smiled at him and took his plate.

“So you and Jo are in the same classes?” Bobby asked. He picked up the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses.

“We’re in ensemble together,” Castiel said, “And I’ve accompanied Jo on a few of her performance pieces.”

“We usually work with Kevin Tran,” Jo said. “I’ve got my eye on Amanda for viola. She’s not Garth, but she’ll do.”

“Sure, I know them. Good kids. Hard workers. You could probably run things to your liking.”

“Run things?” Castiel asked. He should hold his wine. That way no one could fill it up.

“Larger groups mean lots of personalities,” Jo explains. “Politicking, ambition.”

“You mean backbiting.”

“You got a taste of that, boy,” Bobby said. “Meg Masters was always willing to turn mean if it suited her.”

“I still don’t know what happened to her.”

“Academic suspension,” Bobby said. “Ellen told me. Maybe don’t tell her I said so, though.”

“Tell her what?” Ellen asked, bearing a tray of sorbet cups.

“Nothing,” Bobby said. “Let’s play some cards, we’ve got a rookie to trounce.”

 

“Uno,” Castiel said, and laid a red 2.

“Get him, Sammy,” Dean said, and put down a green 2. “We can’t let the rookie win.”

“No, you get him, Dean.” Jo put down a green reverse card.

Dean looked at his hand. “Shit.”

“No.”

“I’m afraid so,” Dean said, and picked up a card. “Nope. Pass.”

Castiel laid a green 7. “I win.”

Bobby gathered up the cards. “Did you just throw the game for your boyfriend? That’s strictly against the rules.”

“I swear it’s just bad luck.”

“Dean will change colors he can’t actually play, and he always throws rock,” Sam said.

“Always rock,” Castiel said. “I’ll remember.”

“You’re telling him all my secrets,” Dean complained.

“That’s my job,” Sam said.

Castiel had a sip of his wine left over from dinner, and Ellen refilled it. “Bottle’s nearly done, kid.”

 

Dean bumped hips with Castiel in the foyer while they were trying to put their shoes on, and Castiel stumbled. But he didn’t fall, so it was funny. He held onto Dean and laughed.

“You’re drunk,” Sam said. “Both of you are blitzed.”

“Am not,” Dean said. “Cas is drunk as a skunk though.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what drunk people say.”

“That’s what you said, Dean.”

“I did,” Dean said, “but I’m fine.”

 

Castiel put on pajamas and went downstairs. Sam was in the AV room, watching a film with the sound low and subtitles on. Castiel listened and realized that the actors weren’t even speaking English.

“Dean fell asleep on you, didn’t he,” Sam smirked.

“He did,” Castiel said. “And I don’t like the way the room spins when I lie down. What are you watching?”

“Hang on, I’ll restart it,” Sam said. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, though. It’s called  _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo_.”

Castiel settled in and read the subtitles. “So that reporter has been convicted of Libel?”

“Right.”

Castiel settled in with his bottle of water and watched. “Is this on Netflix?” He asked, after Noomi Rapace appeared.

“Yes. Do you want it on your list?”

“Yes.”

 


	38. Auld Lang Syne

Sam and Dean attended Charlie’s New years eve costume party every year. They were looking forward to it. They explained what “cosplay” was to Cas, and he thought he understood it - you dressed as a character and pretended to be that character, if only shallowly. That you called people by their character’s names and not their own, unless they asked you to. Some did and some didn’t. It was complicated, but Castiel figured he could pretend to be Model Student Tom Riddle and see what an Outsider party was like.

They crossed the patterned carpet and a collection of rolling platforms with brass arches. Castiel was about to ask what they were when a woman put her suitcase and a garment bag on one and rolled it towards the elevators.

“This is  exciting,” Castiel said to Sam, who had his room key - a card lock, Sam said it was. “I’ve never stayed in a hotel before. This is nice.”

“It’s all right,” Sam said. “If you like this place you’ll love the hotel for Love of Music. It’s a bit more luxurious.”

“More expensive, you mean,” Castiel said. “I should pay a share.”

“Don't worry about it, Cas. We’ve got it covered.”

  
  


Castiel looked around the hotel room with interest. It was a nice looking room, though it lacked a personal touch. He did like the nice big bed and the view of the lake through the large windows.

“It’s nice,” Castiel said. “I like the bed.”

“You would,” Dean teased.

“We have a little time before we have to get ready,” Castiel said, and tried to lead Dean to the bed.

“Not that much time,” Dean said. “We got in late.”

He wiggled out of Cas’s grip and moved his cello into the closet. Cas stared after him.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean said. “I’m just a little irritable.”

So was Cas. The trip had been full of traffic delays, and bad temper had filled the Impala on the crawl into town.

“I was thinking we could do something special tonight,” Cas said.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

“Intercourse,” Castiel said.

“Cas, how about we stick to drunk sex take 2?”

“I don’t — Fine,” Castiel said, and Dean was right there, hands on his shoulders.

“I know I’m driving you crazy, Cas. I know. But I still need time. But I’ve been thinking about it, okay? A lot.”

“Okay.” But Castiel picked up his garment bag and slipped into the bathroom, leaving Dean alone.

  
  


“Dean, are you nearly ready?” Castiel straightened out his dress robes, green and silver tie in one hand. He looked in the mirror at the silver serpent that wound around his right ear. Charlie was right - it was the little touches that made the costume. The ear cuff felt a little strange, but he liked it.

“Coming out,” Dean said, and the bathroom door opened.

Castiel stared.

Dean wore perfectly ordinary clothing, if a little shabby - black pants, white shirt, narrow black tie, and a wrinkled tan trenchcoat. He hadn’t shaved, so beard stubble shadowed his jaw. His blond hair was rumpled even more than it usually was, and the expression he wore was cynical and world-weary.

“I don’t recognize you.”

“That’s because you don’t read comic books,” Dean said. “If you had, I probably would have talked you into strapping on the angel wings and going as Michael, who is kind of a dick.”

“Are you an angel too, then?”

“The character’s name is John Constantine. And he too is kind of a dick.” He felt around in his pockets and produced a cigarette. “It’s fake,” Dean said. “Constantine smokes like a chimney.”

“Good thing comic characters can’t get lung cancer,” Castiel said, and Dean laughed.

“Yeah, funny you should mention. That’s one of the stories.”

They left the room and nodded to a pair of elves by the elevator. “Ladies, those are your LARP costumes. You are not supposed to show up to the party as you.”

“Charlie told us we had to forfeit,” the blonde elf said. “Is your brother coming tonight?”

“I imagine he will,” Dean said.

  
  


Castiel wasn’t sure he liked parties.

Music pounded out of the Starlight Ballroom, while cosplaying partygoers wove through crowds of the unreal. Fairies danced with vampires who shared shots of strong drink with knights and supervillains. A crowd of people bounced and gyrated on the parquet dance floor. Everywhere he looked, people were drinking liquor, laughing, and shouting at each other over the music.

Sam was supposed to be keeping an eye on him. He was only about ten feet away, dressed in a white suit and a satiny white tie against a black shirt. He was dressed as a character from the same comic book Dean had chosen his costume from, and his long hair had been curled so it hung shaggy and wild against his shoulders. Castiel knew that this fascinated many young women, who leaned against him to touch it. The latest one was dressed in a green bodysuit covered in leaves.

Castiel sucked up ginger ale through a straw, careful not to drop his wand.

He liked his costume. He knew it wasn’t elaborate, but he was mostly comfortable. Mostly. He’d been saving the jeans as a surprise.

Sam brought the woman in green over. “This is Poison Ivy,” he said. “Ivy, meet Tom Riddle.”

Poison Ivy had dark eyes and a knowing smile. “Lucifer here tells me you can’t dance.”

“I know how to dance.”

“Like that?” She indicated the undulating crowd that got closer and closer.

“Not like that.”

“Don’t worry, Riddle. It’s all in the hips.”

 

And that was how he wound up on the dance floor with Sam standing behind the woman he only knew by her persona and him in front, trying hard to move in the right way.

Castiel was pretty certain that this kind of dancing required a minimum level of drunkenness to accomplish. He could keep time, but the motions that moved from smooth liquid circles to frank imitation of what he and Dean did together when they were out of sight eluded him.

“I’m sorry I’m not getting it,” Castiel said, and Ivy stroked his shoulder and smiled.

“You haven’t had enough to drink yet,” Sam said. “Dancing has a two drink minimum.”

“I haven’t had anything to drink yet.”

“That’s why,” Poison Ivy said, and she slipped out from between him and Sam, headed for the bar. “Come on, you need some panty remover.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Cas, it’s okay. And you’ll dance better after a couple quick ones. It seriously does help.”

Cas followed after them. The music was good, with an obvious beat and the sound of guitars and slap bass. Sam handed over some drink tickets and handed over tiny glasses brimming with a clear liquid.

“Sam, that’s spirits.”

“It is indeed,” Sam agreed. “Best medicine for tight hips.”

“We don’t drink spirits.”

“Is is forbidden, or just frowned upon?”

“It’s not forbidden,” Castiel said. “But it’s unwise.”

“Alright, Cas. You know the thing where a glass of wine and a glass of beer and an ounce of spirits are equivalent to each other? This is two glasses of wine. Just concentrated.” Sam lifted one glass to his lips and tossed the whole thing back.

“And now it’s one. So I’ll have three to your one.”

Castiel took it and sipped. It was sweet, and the alcohol spread over his tongue. It was powerful, and Castiel drank it quickly. Ivy had one in each hand, and she drank one and handed the second one over.

“Full dose, Riddle. It’ll help.”

 

This was pretty fun.

Castiel rolled his shoulders and leaned in what Poison Ivy called a Samba roll, and she spun away to land in Sam’s arms.

Castiel looked down. “This robe is too hot.”

“Can you take it off?” Poison Ivy asked

“That’s a good idea,” Castiel said, and he unzipped it and draped it over a nearby chair.

“Keep him right here,” Sam said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“We need more drinks!”

“More drinks,” Castiel agreed, and shimmied with Poison Ivy, who did her best to teach him how to body roll. She liked to dance close, but other people were doing it, so it was probably the custom.

Sam came back with a tray full of shots, and Castiel took one. He felt pleasantly dizzy and light, and it did help him dance.

“So how do you know Lucifer? I should say, Sam, I know who he is.”

“I’m his brother’s boyfriend.”

“Dean, huh? Good for him,” she said with a grin. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Apparently one of the guests has a business proposal for him, and they’re talking about it instead of dancing and drinking spirits.”

“I’m a better teacher than he is anyway,” Poison Ivy laughed. Then Sam slipped in behind Castiel with bent knees and moved his hips with his hands.

“Like figure eights,” he said, using his own hips to guide Cas. “Yeah, like that.”

“Jesus Christ, Lucifer. Are you trying to kill me?”

“What?” Sam asked, and ran a hand down Castiel’s chest.

“Sam, I think only Dean should do that.”

“Okay, that’s completely evil, Sam,” Ivy said, and watched Sam’s hand intently. “You. Are evil.”

“Just in character,” Sam said. “Samba roll.”

The three of them circled and Sam stepped back. “I think he’s got it.”

“Definitely. It’s too bad you don’t live in town, Tom Riddle. I’d make a dancer out of you.”

“Do you teach dance?”

“Among other things,” Poison Ivy said.

And that’s when Dean showed up.

 

Dean expected Castiel to be bored and even more irritated at him than before they showed up to this party. And then Craig Thurston wanted to talk to him about recording fade ins and fade outs for an audiobook. Craig was the kind of guy who needed to tell you what he had for breakfast that morning before he’d get to the point, so by the time they got to “wanna do a recording?” “Sure, when?” well over an hour had passed.

So when he made it back to the party he didn’t expect to find Castiel tipsily sandwiched between his brother and  _Ruby Dare_  with his wizard robes off and swiveling his hips in those skin-tight, pale washed jeans. But there they were, and Sam moving to put Ruby in the middle of that sandwich didn’t help, because now there was some guy staring at Castiel’s ass and Dean was right there because that was not on.

Castiel saw him, smiled, and held out a hand.

Dean pulled him close and laid claim to Castiel’s butt with both hands. So he’d learned how to dance? He lifted Castiel’s hand and Cas spun, but Dean stopped him halfway and dragged him in close.

“Follow my hips.”

“I can do that.”

“You sure can.”

Castiel leaned back against him and swiveled. Oh he’d learned, all right. Dean used the slightly down tempo beat of a new song to grind against Cas and kiss up the back of his neck with little bites. Dean knew people were watching. Ruby was staring. Fine. Let them.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean said in Castiel’s ear.

“Finally,” Castiel said.

Dean all but dragged him to the elevators.

  
  



	39. Strepitoso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Okay, carry on.

Dean was possessive. Castiel knew that he should be soothing him down, but Dean’s hands on him and the biting, very public kisses shot thrills through him. They waited at the elevator and Dean didn’t take his hands off Castiel for any longer than it took to press the up button.

Dean only stopped kissing him when a woman’s voice behind them said “Oh, my God,” in shock. Dean looked up, and his hands tensed on Castiel’s back in spite of the insolent smile he threw over Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel looked.

Meg was standing there in the green jacket and black pants of a hotel employee.

“Oh. Hello, Meg,” Castiel said.

The elevator bell dinged.

Dean dragged Castiel into the elevator. “Goodbye, Meg.”

Cas forgot all about her as soon as Dean grabbed him by the tie and kissed him.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “You’re possessive again.”

“Sure am,” Dean said, and bit his lip. “Do you know how often I’ve wanted to peel you out of these jeans, but you never wear them because they’re too tight, and then I find you dancing in them?”

“Dancing licentiously in them,” Castiel said. “And I indulged in spirits.”

“I will never let Sam look after you again,” Dean said, and wedged a thigh between Castiel’s legs. “How much did you drink?”

“I had three,” Castiel said.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not like I was after Ellen and her wine.”

“I was going to tie you tonight,” Dean said. “I didn’t even have a beer.”

“Tie me,” Castiel said. “Dean, please.”

“And not just your hands,” Dean said.

“We can still do it,” Castiel said. “Dean, I want to.”

“I still want to,” Dean said. “I had a whole plan. I have an idea, though.”

The elevator door opened and they nearly ran down the hall.

Castiel let his head drop back against the tiles with a soft thud. Dean knelt in front of him and drew his head back, sucking hard, and Castiel had permission to spend and a promise that he’d get to do it again, only in the ropes. He ran his hands over Dean’s wet hair, breathed in the scent of soap and shampoo on the warm moist air, and kept his motions gentle. But Dean’s mouth humming all around his flesh, the wet, alive feeling of Dean’s tongue made him want to be less than gentle. He wanted—

“Faster,” he groaned. “Dean, please.”

Dean could go so deep. So fast. Dean braced his hands on Castiel’s hips and moved him, showing him just what he could do, and let Cas carry that rhythm until he had to, had to let go.

He told Dean that he was going to, and Dean drew back and sucked hard enough that Castiel couldn’t breathe until the first shock clenched and let go. The only coherent sound out of all the noise he muffled with one hand was Dean’s name. Dean stood up and kissed him, arms strong around his body. He usually laughed and petted Castiel’s hair, rocked him back and forth. This time he kissed Castiel like he wasn’t through eating Cas alive. It made Castiel shiver.

“My turn?” He asked, and Dean bit his lip.

“I still have to finish washing you up,” Dean said, and turned him under the spray of hot water.

“I’m all clean,” Castiel said.

“Not yet,” Dean said, and his smile ran a little shiver between Castiel’s shoulder blades, hard enough to shake him. “Give me the soap.”

Castiel picked it up off the little shelf and gave it over. He went for the wash cloth but Dean shook his head.

“Look at me.” He rubbed the soap in his hands, offered the bar back. Castiel took it and Dean snaked both arms around him, grabbing double handfuls of his buttocks and squeezed. His fingers dug in, circled.

“Your ass,” Dean said, “is fucking amazing.” His fingers drifted down and into the crease and Castiel tensed.

“Let me.” It was a command, and it hit Castiel with a soft, feathery euphoria. He relaxed, and scooted his feet apart. Dean’s smile was dark with that hunger that Castiel hadn’t soothed, that possessiveness that had them upstairs before the year even turned.

“You are so good,” Dean praised, and let his fingers slide down.

Castiel tried to hide his face in Dean’s neck.

“Look at me,” he said, and Cas moaned.

It felt so good. Cas wanted to push against those fingers, slick with soap and perfect right there while Dean watched him with that same avaricious smile. Dean licked his lips and Cas felt like Dean could see right into him and know exactly how it felt - not just the touch, but the wild arousal and the disquiet it battled against.

Dean had been right again. He hadn’t known what he was asking for. This was--

“Let me,” Dean said, and his voice went straight to Castiel’s flesh, already gamely stirring.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice broke.

“Do you need to call it out?”

Castiel dragged in a deep breath and held Dean’s shoulders tight. “Dean, please don’t stop.”

Dean kissed him like Castiel was sweet water: more gentle than before but still deep, their lips fitted together. Dean still had bitterness on his tongue, and Cas groaned into Dean’s mouth, rocking his hips against Dean’s massaging, circling fingers. He protested when Dean took his hand away.

“Now you’re all clean,” Dean said, and turned Castiel around in the pouring water, rinsing all the soap away.

*

Castiel’s skin still tingled from the hard rubdown Dean gave him with the fluffy hotel towels, but he stood still while Dean picked out the lengths of rope he wanted. Stood exactly where Dean had put him.

Dean turned to him with a long rope and Cas smiled to see it. Hemp line, the ends tipped in black vinyl. He’d bent it in half and kissed Castiel as he slipped the bend behind his neck.

It was for the intricate web of knots and hitches that Dean wound around his body - not restricting in itself, but beautiful and sturdy enough to use as a foundation for binding his arms. Dean tied round knots down the center, lining them up to land in precise places on his body, and Castiel stood still. He already felt that floating delight that came when he was bound in Dean’s ropes. The first wraps through, pulling the center ropes into a diamond centered just over his navel were snug, pressing into his skin. They would leave marks. Cas raised his arms and closed his eyes while Dean wrapped him up tight and safe.

Fingers snapped near his ear, and Castiel opened his eyes with a start.

Dean peered at him. “You’re already flying.”

Castiel smiled at him. “I feel like I could do anything.”

“I’ll remember that,” Dean said, and his kiss curled Castiel’s toes into the thick deep green carpet.

Castiel stood still while Dean wound line around each ankle, just under his knees, at his wrists. “Dean. What kind of tie is this?”

“I’m improvising,” Dean said. “It’ll come clear in a minute. Get on the couch, right in the middle. Lie back.”

Dean scooted him down until his buttocks were half off the edge. “Good. I want you comfortable. Lift up.”

Pillows cradled his back. the lines just under his buttocks tugged. “The lower lines might be too tight,” Castiel said, and Dean lifted one leg.

“That better?”

“Yes.”

“Then they’re just right.”

Dean turned away and came back with lengths of short rope tipped in white, lifted Castiel’s leg, and showed him what kind of tie this was.

“Hold your legs open,” Dean said.

Castiel squirmed. He was in the tie Dean had modeled at Lisa’s, in a way - His wrist bands were bound to the line at his ankles, and his elbows linked to the ties just below his knees, but no suspending line kept his feet in the air. His legs weren’t tied together, and if he opened his legs the way Dean wanted, he’d--

“Do it now.”

Castiel shut his eyes and let his legs spread.

“Ohh,” Dean sighed, and Cas heard the thump of his knees landing on the carpet. light fingertips drifted along the back of Castiel’s knees, drifted down his thighs.

“Eyes open, Cas.”

Castiel whimpered.

“Look at me.”

Dean’s gaze roved over the web of hemp around Castiel’s body, down to his rigid flesh, so hard the sheath had nearly receded. He couldn’t ever remember feeling so roused, and it mingled with the mortification at his...position. It was lewd. He felt so exposed. Dean could see everything, touch him any way he liked.

Dean leaned over and licked the back of Castiel’s thigh. He never let Cas look away. “You look good enough to eat. You’re beautiful. Gonna lick every bit of you and make you watch.”

He meant it. Castiel knew. His flesh jumped, thumping back down into the wet patch on his belly. “Dean,” he pleaded. “Can we turn the lights off?”

“I want to see you,” Dean said. “I want you to see me. No closing your eyes, Cas. No dark room. I want you to see me.”

“I see you,” Castiel said, and Dean’s wandering fingers traced along his trembling thighs. That hungry look was back in his eyes, the gold a wide ring bordered by green. Castiel had to close his eyes, but he watched Dean kiss in that way that didn’t quite tickle, pink tongue curling out past teeth and lips.

He was beautiful. Dean was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, and this man was kissing him like it was half a wickedness and half a communion, down his thigh while Castiel quivered at his path.

“Keep your legs open,” he warned, and circled Castiel’s sac with that clever, wicked tongue, and blew cool air over the tightening skin. The hot-and-cold brand of Dean’s tongue slid down. Castiel cried out before Dean’s tongue flickered over him there, Dean’s name torn from him.

“Open your eyes.”

Dean kissed. He licked, with the squirming flat of his tongue and the circling, unyielding point. Castiel shook and begged and he didn’t know what for. Dean held his cheeks apart, growled when Castiel twitched his legs together, and it just felt so good, so sensitive. His breathing was heavy enough to strain against the ropes. His flesh throbbed and ached to be touched. And the shameless things Dean did to him with his mouth sank deep into him. The confusion he felt smoothed out, filled in with that gorgeous floating pleasure.

Dean spread him wider and slid his tongue along his...hole, and Castiel wanted it so badly. He drew his legs closer to his shoulders, opened more, and squirmed. The gentle press of Dean’s finger along his tongue made him nod furiously, eager to feel--

“Oh Cas,” Dean sat back with a grin. “You just took me right up.” He bent forward again and wet his finger, wiggled it inside, and Castiel tried not to squeeze.

“Dean, that’s--oh, more.”

“Not too quick,” Dean said. “Deep breath in, nice and slow….out.”

Cas exhaled and Dean pressed more.

“Tell me when it feels really good,” Dean grinned, and curled his finger up.

Cas couldn’t stop himself from groaning. It flashed, bright and hard. “There!”

“You sure?”

“Dean, Dean please,” Castiel begged.

“Please what?”

“Please touch there again.”

Dean pressed again, and Castiel tried to grind on his finger, to feel it again. Castiel was lost, so roused that when Dean slid slippery fingers over the head of his flesh Castiel had to bite his lip hard to keep control.

Dean leaned over and sucked the tip and Castiel spent a heartbeat later. He knew he’d been noisy. He couldn’t keep quiet. He climaxed with such intensity that Dean made a surprised noise amidst his own wails, but Dean was up and kissing Castiel with a muffled, satisfied hum.

“I loved watching you,” Dean said, and kissed him again. He tugged on the quick-release knots and freed Castiel’s sore, tingling hands and feet, hugged him close, and lifted him off the couch. Castiel wrapped numb arms and legs around him and clung tight, relaxing when Dean spooned him into bed.

“You haven’t had release,” Castiel said, trying to roll over to face him. “Let me.”

“I need to unbind you,” Dean said. “Your hands and feet are asleep.”

“They’re fine,” Castiel said. “Please, let me.”

Dean kissed Castiel once more before rolling onto his back.


	40. Scatenato

Charlie wasn’t even hung over. 

“Every single one of you looks completely debauched,” Charlie announced. “You two, I understand. But Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam.”

Sam gave her a closed-mouth smile and shook his head. “Can’t kiss and tell, Charlie.”

“So. There was kissing,” Charlie laughed and led the way to the large kitchen. She’d lined up three glasses, each with two tablets of Alka-Seltzer and a bottle of Gatorade.

“Your tried and true after-party relief,” Dean said.

Castiel accepted his. “I didn’t drink that much,” he said.

“Looks like you all held back some, which is good, as I mean to make you three record everything you can think of today. I’ve got a practicum student who could really do with some more soundbooth hours.”

“That sounds fine,” Dean said. “Sound engineer?”

“Actually she’s learning it to go with her childhood dream of becoming a movie producer. I think she’s got potential.”

“Good,” Sam said. “I don’t mind. Cas?”

“An observer is alright with me,” Castiel said.

“Good! Good. And while we’re on the subject,” Charlie said, and swung her hair over her shoulder.

“Shoot.”

“We’ve got a couple of her fellow students here, filming for a project. They’re in a media production class, and they wanted to do a feature on us. So we’re letting them run loose with cameras.”

“Charlie.”

“And I can totally keep them away from you three, if you don’t want them hanging around bothering you.”

“Bothering me, you mean,” Dean said.

“Well I didn’t want to say.”

“Dean? A couple of guys with cameras?”

“Let them roam,” Dean said. “I’ve been…working on it.”

“You have?”

“Dean comes to my stage rehearsals,” Castiel said. “We’re working on it.”

“Good! I’ll tell them they can come by, then.”

 

*

The “kids” turned out to be a couple of nerdy looking dudes with cameras trained on each other more often than not, and a very pretty young woman with long blonde hair. Charlie paid particular attention to her questions, and they set up their cameras on tripods, controlling them remotely.

“So this is Dean Winchester, Cello, his brother Sam, Violin, and Dean’s boyfriend, Castiel Bauer, Piano. Dean usually comes in to play cello tracks for us when we need studio support. Sam and Castiel are still in college.”

“Oh. Here? Or out at Lakeside?”

“I’m at Lakeside,” Castiel said. “Sam’s going to Juilliard.”

“Prestigious,” the woman said. “You must be pretty good.”

“Yes,” Sam said.

The nerdy guys rolled their eyes at each other.

“Tell them what you’re playing,” Charlie said.

“Well, you just came in when we were ready to take for Danse Macabre,” Dean said. “And I wish you’d gotten here earlier, because I’m telling you right now? This was not my idea.”

Dean put his hands up and shrugged.

Sam smiled at the blonde. “First we’re doing a trio arrangement of — well, it’s a Taylor Swift song, actually.”

The nerds snickered.

“I like Taylor Swift,” the blonde woman said.

“Well, I hope you like [this](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/I+Knew+You+Were+Trouble/4ZTWXU?src=5),” Sam said, and put his violin to his chin.

Cas thumped the front end to the beat, playing on dampened strings, and Sam’s violin sang the first lines of a song about a girl who fell too fast for a boy who wasn’t worth it. Dean joined with sharp, bouncing bow work, and Cas grabbed the final line and brought it in. Dean built up a throbbing heartbeat with shivering strings and short jabs of his bow, raising it to meet Sam’s quavering violin until Cas damped his strings and Dean slid his bow off the bridge.

They were silent while Sam played the last betrayed line of the chorus and they dropped bass rumbles under its keening. This song was Sam’s and he was on, all switches flipped. He shook his hair back, closed his eyes and made his violin sing.

All Sam needed was one person to play to, one pretty girl to impress, and he forgot about everything and everybody else. Dean wished he had that. 

They got it in one take, and waited for Charlie to clear the lights before Dean set his cello aside, and Sam set down his concert violin and picked up his silly looking electric fiddle.

“Good take,” Charlie said. “You happy?”

“I’m cool with it,” Sam said. “Thanks for putting up with us, guys.”

He waved at the guys, who were already breaking down tripods, and smiled at the girl. “Well, I hope you liked it.”

“I thought it was great,” she said. “I’m glad I was here for it.”

“Well, if you don’t have to go anywhere, maybe you could stick around for one more?”

 _Definitely_  out to impress the pretty girl.

“We didn’t have anything else planned, Sam.”

Like that was going to stop him.

“I have an idea.” Sam laughed and put the fiddle to his shoulder. “Cas. Check this out.”

He damped the strings and picked out a [familiar](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Voodoo+Child+Slight+Return/3Cyyw5?src=5) chunking percussion line. Castiel started grinning. Dean reached for his cello and put it back between his knees.

Sam threw his head back and stamped on a wa-wa pedal, cranking out the main line to  _Voodoo Child_. Dean flipped his bow out and hissed the hi hat, thumped the drumbeat on the body of his cello, and brought his bow down to make the wall of sound that supported the wandering psychedelic blues. When Cas played the bass line and Sam improvised the lyric, Dean took on the gyrating guitar line, relinquished it to Sammy for the trebled solo, grabbed it again and played hard enough that horsehairs sprang loose from his bow. He whaled on the bow, warping strings along the fingerboard to make the sound the way he remembered from countless plays.

Cas stole a solo from Sam, or maybe they agreed with the swift knowledge of their eye contact and Cas dribbled out a trilling gin-joint ornamentation, swept his fingers down the board and Sam took it back with a banshee wail from his fiddle.

Charlie had better be recording this, Dean thought. It was ragged and improvised and they absolutely had to do it again. Hell, Dean would endure an electric if that’s what it needed. They wound down everything with a wobbling downward dissonance, drilled arpeggios in a big messy rock ending, and cut it off.

Dean felt like he was coming back down to earth. Castiel looked like he was holding back giddy laughter. Sam swiped the sleeve of his shirt across his forehead and grinned like he was ready to beat the devil.

“Charlie,” Dean said.

“Dean. What the hell did you people just do.”

“Tell me you got that.”

“Do I have it? I have it. I got everything. I turned on the ‘open these doors and be vaporized’ lights on every booth in the place. I got every second. You. Kid. I’m going to ask you nicely. How much did you get?”

Oh. Right. Dean peered into the soundbooth, and blinked.

The girl’s face was agony.

“My battery died at the beginning,” she said.

“Oh hell, I’m sorry to hear,” Sam said.

“That was amazing, and my battery died. And Harry and Ed wandered off who knows where to go emote at each other’s stupid cameras.”

“Well,” Sam peered at her with sympathy on his face. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Loved it. I’m Jess, by the way.” She smiled right at Sam.

“Hi, Jess,” Sam said, and smiled back. “You didn’t go with the rest of your group.”

“No, I wanted to…ask you if you’d all give permission to let me use the footage we took of you playing  _I Knew You Were Trouble_  for my editing project, but I don’t have the release forms.”

“So you want to know how to get in touch,” Sam said, and set his fiddle on its stand.

“Yes! Yes, exactly,” Jess said.

“How about you take down my email,” Sam said. “And you better give me yours, just in case.”

Dean looked over at Cas, who smiled down at his keys.

*

“She should have known you were trouble when you walked in, Sammy.”

“Shut up.”

“She was very attractive, Sam. Will you email her?”

“I’m going back to New York in a week.”

“And then you’ll be coming home for all your breaks and then for the summer, Sam. Come on, what’s an email or two?”

“Who wants a long distance thing?” Sam asked. “Really. Who?”

“Well you at least have to contact her for the release forms,” Castiel said. “Though why she couldn’t have just asked for a couple from Charlie—oh. It was a ruse.”

“In one, Cas. Good job.”

“But why would you exchange a way to contact her if you’re leaving and you don’t want a ‘long distance thing?’ surely you don’t mean to trifle with her.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Sam said. “I dunno, I just…”

“Reflex,” Dean said.

“No, it’s more,” Sam said, watching the trees whip past as they drove up Lake Shore Drive back up to the house. “Just something about her, but I’m going back,” Sam said, and shrugged.

“Write to her anyway,” Dean said. “You like her. Bug her during classes you hate or whatever. You never know, right?”

  
  



	41. Capriccioso

Castiel had decided to wear jeans and the charcoal waistcoat from his suit, the stormy gray striped shirt, and a summer sky blue tie that Dean wound into a wide, elaborately layered knot.

“I’m never going to learn how you make these knots.”

“I like tying your ties,” Dean said, “So hush.”

Dean was looking at him in a way that made Castiel want to kiss him, but Dean wasn’t done with the knot.

“I love it when you tie my ties,” Castiel set his hands on Dean’s hips.

“You’re nearly dressed and you’re fixing to get stripped again.”

“And then I’ll be late for the interview,” Castiel said. “But I still love it when you tie my ties.”

He did. No one knew that the elegant knots he wore around his neck were anything but a reflection of his sartorial preferences. No one knew that when he wore a tie it meant that Dean had bound him.

Not all secrets were stones. Castiel touched the knot with one finger and smiled.

*

Bela Talbot was a tidy, pretty blonde woman with a clipboard and pen in hand who quit smiling the moment she laid eyes on him.

“Mr. Bauer,” she said. “You’ve changed.”

“I had a haircut three days ago,” Castiel said, confused.

She smiled, and led him over to the piano surrounded by floodlights. He sat down and the cameraman he remembered held a meter up to his face.

“Rufus!”

“Castiel. Looking snappy, my man. Left the farm behind, haven’t you?”

“You mean my clothes,” Castiel said. “Yes. I found that my appearance was too unusual to blend in with the other students.”

“Did you have problems?” his interviewer asked.

He wasn’t going to talk about the piano competition. “The world Outside is strange and wonderful. I had a lot to learn. I didn’t know how to use a computer. I still don’t like them much.”

She seemed interested in that, so he talked a bit about how he preferred the iPad’s intuitive touch and how he could use it to page sheet music. They moved on to classes, performances, always returning to Castiel as the farmboy with a gift that catapulted him into a world that held surprises for the innocent. It grated.

They filmed all of it. Castiel ignored the camera as much as he could, and played music for them, starting with Mozart’s Sonata no. 8. He got it out of the way, and brushed off questions about it. Maybe one day he would tell the truth about it, but for now he still had to carry it.

*

“We’d like to get some photographs of you at your residence.” Bela said. “Do you live in Singer Hall?”

“Actually, I live in a private home,” Castiel said. “I found the energy of student residence to be overwhelming. I was lucky enough to find someone who doesn’t mind me playing the piano for 6 am practice.”

“So your hours are the same as when you were back home, but instead of farm work, you’re at the piano. Working just as hard.”

Castiel was more than done with all of this. “I don’t think photographs of me at home will be possible. I had no notice, and made no arrangements. Perhaps I should lounge in the common lobby of the Faculty of Music the way many students do.”

Bela Talbot conceded. “That will be reasonable. What kind of a house do you live in?”

Castiel talked about the arts and crafts house, the pretty street, the fine kitchen and the music room with the restored vintage piano.

“It’s too bad we can’t get a picture of you at that piano. It sounds beautiful.”

Castiel smiled. “Perhaps at our interview at the end of the year.”

“Least we can do is give you a ride back to your house, sonny,” Rufus said. “It’s colder than Hannibal Lecter’s heart out there.”

*

Ms. Talbot rode in the back seat of the huge luxury sport-utility vehicle so Castiel could give directions. “It’s not far. Technically still on the campus,” he explained.

“I know the area you’re talking about,” Rufus said, and took the quick left and right to get into the neighborhood.

“This is very nice,” Bela said.

“I think a few of the professors live here,” Castiel said. “Left up ahead.”

“Is it on the left or the right?”

“The right. Near the middle of the street,” Castiel said. “The house is spruce green, with—”

“White trim,” Rufus said, and stopped.

“This is Deanna Campbell’s old house,” Bela Talbot said.

“It is,” Castiel said, and smiled. “I would like it if we could get a picture of me at her old piano. It’s a pleasure and a privilege to get to play it every day. I will ask Dean.”

Neither of them said anything.

“Anyway, it’s nice to see you again, Rufus. Hopefully next time.”

“Sure thing, Castiel.”

“Ms. Talbot,” Cas said, and got out of the vehicle to open her door. He gave her a hand out and closed the passenger door for her before he turned and went up the walk to his front door.

They were still staring at him when Dean opened the door and hauled him inside for a kiss.

 

**So that video Jess made is up**

_Is it? How is it?_

**It’s good. She’s good. She basically edited together a decent documentary style short video of us playing the song, and I found out how much of voodoo child she got. The end would be funny if it wasn’t painful.**

Sam sent Cas a link and he watched it.

They looked good. Most of it centered on Sam, but there were shots of him at the piano, and they caught Dean mouthing “I knew you were trouble when you walked in” and winking at Cas, to his quiet laughter. Castiel smiled and watched the video.

_Ha I see Dean singing at me_

**You two are terrible. You never stop.**

_Why should we?_

**Well so the rest of us don’t die from the sweetness, for one. Keep watching the credits.**

They scrolled up over Sam talking to Jess in the booth, her camera swinging towards the two men who hadn’t seemed impressed with them packing up to film something else, and then back on Sam. It wasn’t hard to see her interest, from her perspective behind a lens.

The moment Sam started the melody for Voodoo Child, a low battery Icon popped up in the corner, and Cas could hear Jess muttering “oh no no no no battery don’t die don’t die—”

And then it cut off.

_That’s terrible. Poor Jess_.

**I feel bad for laughing, but it’s funny to me. What an awful thing to have happen. I feel for her but lol**

_That’s like laughing because someone fell down a hole. It’s low humor. You are low, Sam Winchester. You should apologize to her._

**Yeah, I totally should. And find out when the classes she hates are.**

_Foundations of psychology is a lot better. I don’t know when you’re going to message me._

**Same slots as ethics?**

_The same._

**I’ll bother you anyway. Count on me.**

*

Castiel showed Kevin and Jo on his iPad when he met them for lunch.

“Oh my god. Did her battery seriously die right then?”

“I feel her pain. Sam was flipping that hair around like he was selling shampoo.” Kevin ran a hand along his new short haircut.

“Send me the link, Mom’s gotta see this.”

“And then let’s figure out how we’re going to control our concerto,” Kevin said.

“I didn’t realize that we’d have to do so much conniving,” Castiel said.

They stuck their heads together and plotted a takeover.

*

Castiel showed the video to Dean, who got a laugh out of watching himself make faces at Castiel. He groaned in sympathy at Jess’s frantic mutterings and the flashing battery low signal during the credits.

Castiel took the iPad back and minimized back to youtube, and said, “Huh.”

“What is it?”

“We’ve got a million hits.”

“What? When did the video go up?”

“Today.”

“Wow.”

*

The next day Castiel couldn’t swing a dead cat without someone either singing Taylor Swift or asking if that was him and the Winchester brothers, and did her battery really die right there?

“Yes, it did,” Castiel said. Again and again.

*

_Are we viral?_

**We’re viral. 15 million hits.**

_I hope Jess gets a good grade._

**Are people asking you if the battery died?**

_Yes. And if we’ll get together for a sequel._

**I’m not back until Love of Music, and that’s for two days, so Spring Break.**

_People will have forgotten by then._

**I almost hope so.**

*

Cas ran to Kevin in the hall, clutching his iPad. “Kevin, you have to help me.”

“Sure, Cas, what’s going on?”

Castiel handed his precious tablet over, beseeching. “I have 2,000 new emails.”

“Shit. You need a whitelist. Gimme a sec. What do you want to do with the rest?”

“I don’t know, I can’t answer 2,000 emails.”

“Here, try this. The email that isn’t from anyone who isn’t already in your address book will just go into this folder. You can ignore it or whatever.”

“Thanks, Kevin.”

“Wait. Give me your phone. Stalkers are determined.”

“They could phone me?”

“They could…but now they can’t.”

*

**Cas? Are you buried under a mountain of email too?**

_Kevin fixed it for me._

**Good move. I was going to tell you to ask him for help.**

_Sam, this is really unsettling._

**It’s weird, I agree. And I’m getting so many phone numbers it’s crossed the line from funny into a bit sick.**

_I haven’t gotten so many. But yes. I feel like I can’t go anywhere without someone from Ensemble with me._

*

Castiel had a feeling, so he asked Kevin to come over to his house after classes. Dean was in the kitchen, staring at his laptop.

“Cas? Do you have--Kevin,” Dean said, and his face smoothed out in relief. “Kevin listen, I’ve got a thousand emails.”

“Castiel brought me to whitelist your email.”

“Thank you. I’ll set an extra place at the table. We’re eating pizza. I made one with just veggies. Name your dessert. Castiel will bring it for you tomorrow.”

“Chocolate brownies.”

Dean looked up at the tin-punched ceiling and thought. “Eggs and dairy all right?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.”

“I can do it,” he said. “This is because of that damn video?”

“It seems to be,” Castiel said.

“That’s freaking me out a bit, I don’t mind saying.”

“I don’t blame you,” Kevin said, and banished the non whitelisted emails to a folder. “Everyone at school has been asking if her battery really did die just then, and it wasn’t a teaser for a sequel.”

“A sequel,” Dean groaned. “No way. Nohow. One viral video is bad enough. Let’s just forget this ever happened, okay?”


	42. Mano Destra

Usually Dean enjoyed these short trips out to California to work, but he just wanted to be home with Castiel. Dean knew Castiel’s routine. Castiel would still be at evening practice for another 40 minutes. Enough time for Dean to have a jog on the treadmill and a shower. Running along the lake shore was far better, but he didn’t know LA well enough to know where to go running.

He checked the clock every two minutes anyway, and had the fastest shower he could, and when he turned the water off that was Farewell playing on his phone.

Castiel had called him.

“Cas,” he said, and put him on speaker. “I was just about to call you. Miss me?”

“Very much,” Castiel said. “Do you miss me?”

“Like crazy,” Dean said. “So what are you wearing?”

“I’m wearing the same thing I was wearing when you left this morning, Dean. Though I was about to retire. May I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m going to think of you naked in my bed.”

“I was going to wear night clothes.”

“Don’t,” Dean said. “Sleep naked.”

“I will,” Castiel said.

“In fact, do something for me.”

“What would you like, Dean?”

“Go upstairs.”

“I am upstairs, actually.”

“All right. Put me on speaker.”

“As you wish,” Castiel said, and Dean walked out of the chilly marble-floored bathroom and onto the thick midnight blue carpet.

“I want to do something with you, Cas.”

“What’s that?”

“Ask me what I’m wearing.”

“What are you wearing, Dean?”

“A hotel robe,” Dean said. “I just got out of the shower.”

“So you’re also ready to retire. Do you want to talk to me while we’re in bed?”

“That’s what I want, Cas. I want to hear your voice.”

“I like to hear your voice too,” Castiel’s voice sounded far away, then returned.

“What are you doing?”

“Undressing. I just pulled the tie loose and slipped it over my head. I know that’s not good for it but you tied it for me.”

“You  _are_  going to be wearing that tie when I come home,” Dean teased.

“It makes me feel close to you,” Cas said. “I like that. I’m taking off my shirt.”

Dean watched Castiel carefully undo his buttons on his shirt, exposing the beautiful deep groove down his torso. It didn’t matter that it was just in his head. “I like it too, Cas,” Dean said. “I want to hear your voice.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to sleep without you,” Cas said, and Dean wanted a way to instantly transport himself back home so he didn’t have to.

“I wish I was there,” Dean said. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes. I wish I could touch you right now.”

“Tell me what you would do,” Cas said, and Dean grinned.

“First. Will you do something for me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Look at your hands. Right now, they’re not yours. They’re mine, and they will do exactly what I want.”

“Dean,” Cas sounded a little breathless. “Exactly what you want. Dean, I’m—”

“You’re what?”

“Aroused. Please tell me what to do.”

“Did we just hit a kink, Cas? Being told what to do make everything feel just a little bit sweeter? Are you touching yourself?”

“No,” Cas said. “You haven’t told me what to do.”

“Oh you are so  _good_ ,” Dean purred in his ear. Cas groaned and Dean’s hand went straight to his dick. “Touch your lips. Light, soft. The way I like to. I can feel you kissing my fingers. I can see your eyes go half closed.”

“I love your lips,” Castiel said. “I think about your mouth all the time.”

“What else do you think about, tell me,” Dean demanded. “Slowly touch your throat, the place that makes your mouth open and turn your head so I can reach it better.”

“When you tie me. I’ve looked at pictures.”

“You were looking at bondage porn? Wicked Cas.”

“Some of it is beautiful,” Castiel said. “Very beautiful. Very few with men in rope, though.”

“You’d make a beautiful model,” Dean said. “If I let anyone see you like that. I like you all to myself. You don’t know how you look when I’ve got you bound.”

“Dean, when you get home, tie me. Please.”

“And what else?”

“Can we—I want you to join with me. Please.”

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean gripped tight at the base and squeezed. “I want you like that.”

“I want to be like that for you.”

“Touch your cock, Cas. Stroke it. But tell me if you’re going to come. I’m going to tell you how I’d love to have you, on your knees in my bed, with your arms tucked up behind you, but I’d rig you so you could just relax, the ropes would hold you up.”

“Safe,” Cas whispered.

“Nice and safe, Cas. I’d make sure your legs stayed open for me. I’d let you struggle so you’d know that you weren’t going to come loose, and you couldn’t stop me from looking at you—”

“Dean, yes, please do that. Don’t let me hide.”

“You have such a nice ass, Castiel Jeremiah,” Dean said, and a shocked whimper sounded on the line. “Sweet and round, gorgeous strong legs, all open for me. But I want to see.”

“Dean!”

“You can’t stop me, Cas, not unless you say the word. Do you want to say it?”

“Please don’t stop.”

“So good,” Dean praised. “I’ll look all I want, touch wherever I want, get down underneath you and lick the head of your cock, it’s so good.”

“I’m close,” Castiel groaned. “Dean.”

“Not yet,” Dean said. “Give yourself a minute.” Give him a minute too, honestly. He’d wanted to do what he was describing for months, and Castiel’s response was pure magic. He wanted to go home right now.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Castiel said. “You have a profound effect on me.”

“You make me crazy, Cas. Can you touch yourself again?”

“Yes.”

“Do it,” Dean stroked his cock again. “We’re going to do this when I get back, so I can squeeze that beautiful ass, pull your cheeks apart.”

“Dean, Dean please.”

“Please what.”

“Your--your tongue, I want--”

“I will, Cas. When I come back.”

“We’re ready?”

“We’re ready,” Dean agreed.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas sighed. “I want that so much.”

“What are my hands doing?”

“Stroking my flesh.”

“Keep that up,” Dean said. “Listen. I’m going to open you up. Nice and gentle.”

“I want you to.”

“I will. But just keep my hands on your flesh. Stroke it. Think about all the rope tied around you, about how it’s holding you up, and how you can’t move except to rock on your knees a bit, can you see it? I can see it. And you’re beautiful.”

“Dean please.”

“You want to come?”

“Yes,” Cas said.

“Yes. Come for me. Bite your lip. Hold your breath. Let it out—”

“Ah! Dean!”

“Just like that, babe,” Dean said. “Perfect.”

“It’s all over me,” Cas said. “All over my chest.”

Dean could see it in his picture of Castiel in dim light, each droplet shining on his skin. “You know what I would do if I was there?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, and then, “Mm,” and the wet sound of Cas sucking on his fingers.

“Oh fuck, Cas, don’t stop.” Dean pumped his hips harder. “Every drop, Cas, I’m going to come listening to you lick your come off your fingers, that’s so hot.”

“Dean, I wish you were here so I could kiss you.”

“Oh fuck.” Dean gasped, and came, all his buttons pushed. It took a few seconds for him to get his head clear enough to talk again.

“Cas, you are awesome.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said. “I think you’re great.”

“Should we do it again tomorrow night?”

“Yes. We definitely should.”


	43. Obbligato

Castiel  didn’t get the email from Professor Harvelle asking him to see her in her office at 10:00 until he was already at school, and in the middle of Professor Balthazar’s keyboarding skills class.

He waited, watching the man who never wore a tie where Castiel had seen him, preferring knit shirts under his tweed and broadcloth jackets. When Balthazar walked over, he showed him the email.

“Very well,” he’d said, a little crossly. “Shoo.”

“Thanks, professor Balthazar.” He touched the knot at his throat and got up to speak to Ellen. Which he would never call her. At school, anyway.

*

Ellen Harvelle didn’t look happy with the man who sat in her office. He was no one Castiel recognized. He didn’t have much gray in his dark hair but it was getting thin on top. His forehead creased above mobile, arched eyebrows, and his expression looked like a mix between someone who told a lot of sarcastic jokes and the kind of person who could cut right to the heart of a problem. He wore a black suit with a black shirt and a black tie that wasn’t knotted nearly as nicely as Castiel’s.

“The name’s Crowley,” he said. He got to his feet and shook Castiel’s hand.

“Your name is familiar.”

“It should be, I signed your tuition checks,” Crowley said, and smiled.

“You’re a director of the Campbell foundation,” Castiel said.

“I am,” Crowley said.

“Does the Foundation have connections to the United Kingdom? I couldn’t help but notice your accent, and I was interviewed by a woman who had a similar one.”

“A perceptive question,” Crowley said. “In fact there is, but that wasn’t why I came to see you today.”

Castiel’s heart sank. “It’s the video, isn’t it? We had no idea that it would become so popular. We were just fooling around. It doesn’t make the Foundation look bad, does it?”

“Castiel. I’d like to speak to you in private. We have a situation and it’s quite serious.”

“I would have never signed the release if I’d had any idea.”

“I’m certain of it,” Crowley said. “You are the kind of young man who takes his obligations seriously.”

He steered Castiel out the door and into the classroom he and Ellen—Professor Harvelle--usually used for private piano lessons. He closed the door. Professor Harvelle hadn’t come with them.

“This isn’t about the video, Castiel. Not directly.”

“It isn’t? Then what’s wrong?”

Crowley took a chair and Castiel followed suit. “When Ms. Talbot came back from her interview she reported that you lived at Deanna Campbell’s former home with Dean Winchester.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And Ms. Talbot told me that she had seen you exchange an amorous greeting with Dean Winchester.”

“Did she? Oh. Yes,” Castiel said. “Dean opened the door for me.”

Crowley sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I was afraid of that.”

“Sir, I don’t understand.”

“Let me try to explain. You’re familiar with conflicts of interest?”

“I passed my Ethics class last semester,” Castiel said. “Is there a conflict of interest involving my scholarship because I live with Deanna Campbell’s grandson?”

“You nearly have it,” Crowley said. “You’re very intuitive. Very rational. I have no worries--” Cas couldn’t place the look on the man’s face. It seemed hopeful, but it also felt, if possible, even more worried-- ”that we’ll be able to deal with this issue. But if you’ll allow me to ask a personal question: what is your relationship to Dean Winchester?”

“Dean?” Castiel said. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Crowley looked pained. “Dean Winchester is a member of the board.”

“Oh. Of the Campbell Foundation? I didn’t know that. He never talked about it.”

“I expect it never occurred to him to mention it. He’s a voting member, although I don’t believe he even reads the reports.”

“He speaks more of his recording work,” Castiel said. “Wait.”

Crowley nodded sympathetically.

“There’s a conflict of interest, because I’m the Campbell Scholar, and he’s a board member. Did he have anything to do with me being chosen?”

Crowley winced. “He voted positively for your blind audition recording. I doubt he read any of the profiles on the candidates. Dean’s not exactly patient.”

“Bach, Goldberg variations,” Castiel responded automatically. “I played the first three variations. The canon at the unison was pretty.”

“And you can imagine what people will believe when they hear he had a hand in your selection.”

Castiel blinked. He held onto the chair arm as it all unfolded in his mind. “They’ll say that he used his influence to get me the scholarship and moved me into his house to continue an affair with me.”

Crowley didn’t answer.

Castiel laced his fingers together, twisted them this way and that. “But I didn’t know him. He didn’t know who I was until I told him. Can’t we just explain?”

“Think about what people will believe,” Crowley said. “I know that you can predict the outcome, once news gets out.”

“But I didn’t know him.”

“And anyone who has read about you will know that you came from a small religious community where time has stood still in favor of old fashioned values.”

“Dean does not corrupt me,” Castiel said. “He never has.”

“What actually happened does not matter nearly so much as how it appears,” Crowley said. “Your relationship with Dean is still a secret, and you can still save Dean’s reputation.”

“How? What do I need to do?”

“You need to leave him,” Crowley said.

“No,” Castiel said. It wasn’t a denial. It was a plea.

“Quickly, quietly. No one need ever know what occurred between you two.”

“But I love him,” Castiel said. Oh, it hurt. Just thinking of it hurt. He touched his tie knot and swallowed the lump in his throat, but it stuck like a burr. His chest ached.

“You know it will come out. And you can imagine what people will think of him, what people will think of the foundation. You didn’t mean any harm and neither did he.”

“But I love him,” Castiel said. “Please understand.”

“Castiel,” Crowley said, his voice gentle. “You have a choice. You can leave him, and continue your education under the agreement with the foundation. Because it’s sudden, we’ve arranged for you to take an apartment in a residence on campus. Not a dorm or shared, but your own private apartment, fully furnished, high speed internet. I’ve personally arranged an account with a grocery delivery service and for someone to come and clean once a week. This is a sudden blow. It’s the least we can do, to preserve what promises to be a remarkable career.”

“He loves me too,” Castiel said, the words breaking. “I know he does.”

“Or you can stay. You’ll lose your scholarship, and you will destroy his reputation when the scandal comes out. The foundation’s reputation, Deanna Campbell’s legacy, will be severely damaged for many years, if not longer. But Dean Winchester will never recover from the disgrace, and your bright future will grow darker every day.”

“I can’t do this.”

“If I was in your position I’d be devastated.” Crowley pulled his chair closer, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “And I hate,  _hate_  that I’ve come to break up your relationship for the sake of appearances. It offends me, both as a romantic and a gay man, that the scandal would be tripled because of your genders.”

Castiel’s eyes darted to the ring on Crowley’s finger.

He held it up. “Toronto. 2004. And they can’t tell me it’s not real. Castiel, I’m so sorry. If I had a choice - well. I’ve done what I can. Your admission as our scholar will be secure, and I’ll pull strings to get you a private apartment on campus again next year. You can go on with your education.”

“But I can’t date him? We wouldn’t be living together.” Hope was a tiny flame in the middle of his chest. “We could go to dating. I think Dean might even like it.”

Crowley looked like someone who had killed a cherished dream. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It would be best if you avoided all contact with him. A clean break. It’ll hurt.”

He didn’t say  _It’s for the best_  or  _time heals all wounds_  or  _better to have loved and lost_  or any of those other hollow things.

“How long do I have to decide?” Castiel asked.

“I have to leave here with an answer.”

He couldn’t stop the tears. He hid his face in his hands. Crowley’s hand on his shoulder didn’t comfort him. But it felt like he hurt for Castiel. That he cared.

“Dean’s gone,” Castiel croaked. “He went to LA to record a movie score. He won’t be back until Thursday.”

“Castiel, I worry that Dean will try to talk you out of it. I know you can foresee what would happen if you let him.” Crowley squeezed his shoulder. “I have the keys in my pocket and I have assistants who can help you move your things. Do you have much furniture?”

Castiel couldn’t take a smooth breath. It hitched and stuttered in his chest, clenched in his throat, and oh it  _hurt._

“Just some clothes,” he said. “And a portable keyboard.”


	44. Estinto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are still on the weepy and tragic bits, my droogs.

The apartment has beige walls, gray carpet, and muddy brown kitchen counters. The doors are yellow wood, matching from the kitchen cupboards to the door to the bathroom. The windows are covered with blinds.

Castiel walks behind the assistants who move Castiel’s things and unpack them. He stands in the kitchen, away from their busy activity, and watch them set this place to rights.

This empty, anonymous place is where he lives now.

Castiel turns around and opens the refrigerator door.

There’s a carton of milk. A loaf of unsliced bread. Apples. Cheese. Condiments rest on the inside door. The freezer holds pre-prepared, heat and serve meals.

He opens the cabinets. Cans of soup, ready made pasta, and tuna. White machine made dishes, stamped with exactly the same pattern. Four identical cups and drinking glasses. It reminds him of a bigger version of the dorm he lived in for two nights before he answered an ad in the college newspaper.

He doesn’t feel any of it. He’s empty, hollow. He’s not moving his hands. He’s not moving his legs. But he’s moving, to inspect a bathroom filled with the vinyl smell of a brand new shower curtain, new floor rugs, and his soap and shampoo and toothpaste. His star quilt hangs over a twin bed resting on a platform with drawers underneath, his laptop poised on the student desk. His clothes hang on identical wooden hangers in the closet, with a special hanger for his ties. He looks at those, carefully arranged by colour and pattern.

He turns away.

The big room that holds the dining table and the sofa looks the emptiest of all. His portable keyboard rests in the corner, and the patch knit blanket lies over the beige overstuffed couch.

He’s all moved in.

“Thank you,” he says to the assistants. It wasn’t their fault. And he just wants to be alone. “You’ve done a good job.”

 

He sits at the kitchen table. He doesn’t remember anything but the wall in front of him, empty, but now Crowley sits across from him, hands folded, watching him with that brow ploughed with worry.

“I don’t think you should be alone, Castiel. Is there anywhere you can go?”

“I want to go home,” Castiel says. He wants to go home and curl up in the middle of Dean’s bed and put the covers over his head. He wants all this to be a horrible dream that he can recount in Dean’s arms so Dean can kiss the top of his head and tell him that’s it’s just a nightmare.

It doesn’t feel real. But he’s awake.

“Will you be okay with your mother?” Crowley asks, and Castiel realizes that home means one thing to Castiel and Crowley thinks it’s another, but he wants his mother, needs her. She’s the only safe place for him.

“Yes.”

 

Crowley doesn’t talk to him. He watches the GPS directions on the computer installed in his car, drives in silence. Castiel watches them fly past trees, warm and comfortable while their sap freezes and threatens to split them open from the inside. He knows the road, knows the turns, but doesn’t give any directions until the computer stubbornly asserts that the location Crowley wants has no road.

“It’s that lane on the right.”

Crowley guides the big Mercedes along the track. It’s been plowed and graveled; the way is easy to follow. It passes through poplar trees that make Castiel think of Dean’s bed. He’s almost there.

Crowley takes the road to the right, and peers at all the houses lined up there - houses built from ordered blueprints and many hands. The oldest are closest to the road, and the skeleton framing of two more rest in the dimming light near the end.

“Which one?” Crowley asks.

“The yellow one,” Castiel answers.

Crowley pulls up to it. “How do I get back out?”

“Take the road between those two barns. Drive slowly. No one walking there will expect you. When you get to the T, turn left, and watch for children. The ice rink is there, and they could still be playing. Just follow the road. It’ll come back around to the lane.”

“Thank you, Castiel. And if you need anything, call me. I might not be able to come get you, but I’m very good at making arrangements.”

Castiel remembers the fridge stocked with food and he nods. “Thank you, Crowley.”

He unclasps his seatbelt and gets out.

His mother is there on the porch, wrapped in the shawl Castiel made for her, the ends wrapped around at the waist. Inias stands beside her, and Michael comes out holding Lilith’s hand.

The Mercedes slowly pulls away. Castiel walks up the steps and his brother’s hands guide him inside.

The floor creaks under him, and Lilith hugs him around the waist. “You didn’t tell anyone you were coming,” she accuses.

“I didn’t know I was coming, Lulu.” He strokes her hair and looks at Michael, who takes his daughter away.

“I think Castiel needs to talk to Grandmother, patience. Inias, find Benjamin, tell him to set an extra place at dinner.”

“Can’t we stay too?”

“And leave your mother all alone?”

“But Castiel has come,” Lilith says. “He’s my favorite.”

“Castiel is sad right now, patience. What do we do?”

“Bring them peace and comfort,” Lilith says.

“That’s right,” Michael says. “But that’s Grandmother’s job.”

He puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes before he carries Lilith out.

“Come, Castiel,” Mother says, and takes Castiel’s hands. She steers them to the sofa, gathers him up, and all the cracks in Castiel flex and shatter into tears.

 

He doesn’t know how long he weeps. It’s full dark outside when his throat is too dry to go on. He remembers trying to explain to mother, through slashing breaths and the spikes in his throat, but he isn’t sure how much he got out.

He drinks tea he knows has Valerian in it, with long-steeped chamomile and autumn honey. He’s in front of his old bed, but holds onto his tie when mother wants to take it off.

“Dean tied it for me,” he says. He touches the knot and the pain rises again.

“Let’s just slip it off, then,” Mother says, and he lets her draw it over his head.

Castiel lets her dress him in a nightshirt and tuck him in, but instead of leaving, she opens a book and starts reading:

“Chapter 1. An Unexpected Party. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

 


	45. Agitato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still in the unhappy valley.

  
**Agitato**

 

Dean knew there was something wrong when he couldn’t get Castiel on the phone, when he never returned any of his texts. He wound up driving his rental straight to LAX and caught the last nonstop flight back, accepting the cost of the ticket exchange and the night at the hotel he left behind. Something was wrong. Very wrong, and he had to get home.

 

The taxi dropped him off in front of the house before the sky had even turned grey with the dawn, and he knew before he even opened the door.

Castiel was gone. He could feel it.

The house was empty. All of Castiel’s shoes were gone. There was a piece of paper on the dining room table, but Dean ignored it to run up the stairs.

The bed was stripped. The closet, empty. The iPad rested on the little charging station Dean had built out of a balsa wood box.

Castiel was gone. Castiel left him.

Dean tried calling Castiel’s number again, and got voice mail.

It still said,  _“I don’t understand. Why do you want me to say my name?”_  and Dean’s stomach lurched again, like it had the last time he heard it. And the time before that.

“Cas. Cas. I’m home and you’re gone. Where are you? Why did you leave? Call me back. Just let me know that you’re all right. I saw you left a note but I haven’t read it. I don’t understand what happened, I need you to explain.”

Dean rattled off his number again, and held the banister as he went down the stairs.

 

The note read:

_Dean;_

_You never told me you were on the board. We put the Foundation at risk. That’s why I had to leave._

_I’m sorry. I did what I had to do. I won’t ask you to forgive me._

_Castiel_

It wasn’t even actual morning yet. The sun wouldn’t be up for hours. Nothing he could do until then.

But he left Sam a message: Castiel left me. and one for Aunt Ellen: Can you just let me know if Castiel made it to class all right?

There wasn’t anything else he could do.

 

He couldn’t sleep. The bed smelled like Castiel. He wanted to wash all the sheets and blankets. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He was angry. He had the right to be angry.  _Cas left him_. Dean would never have done that. He would have fought.

 

He got a message from Sam:  **He what?**

Dean explained how Cas—Castiel—quit answering his phone the night before, how he’d rushed home on a red-eye flight back to town and discovered that he’d moved out. He told Sam about the note.

**But that doesn’t make any sense! No one on the board would think that you used your position to sleazy office manager your way into Castiel’s bed. And you weren’t on the selection committee!**

Dean sat down on the bed and typed back.  _I heard his performance though. His and all the other applicants. What do you want to bet I picked his?_

**Shit.**

_I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that meeting. I never go to meetings. Why did I go to that one?_

**It was the AGM,** Sam pointed out. **You had to.**

_I should have ditched it anyway._

**You can’t ditch the AGM.**

_Fuck. How was I supposed to know that I was screwing myself over?_

**I bet it’s the new guy behind this.**

_Crowley?_

**Yeah. Uncle Bobby saw you two together and he didn’t say boo. And you know that if he thought there was something wrong we would have heard it.**

_Aunt Ellen knew too. She would have dragged me out to the shed by my ear if she thought there was something wrong._

**Most of the Board would give you the benefit of the doubt. Crowley doesn’t know you like they do. It’s probably him.**

Dean relaxed his jaw, massaged it, and tried to think. If Crowley had done it, then he’d convinced some of the board that he was right. Dean didn’t know who. Dean didn’t want to know who would have sided with Crowley against him.

**So you need to talk to Cas, clear this up.**

_What’s to clear up? He left, Sam._

**Probably Crowley told him that he had to.**

_Does that matter? He could have insisted on staying to talk to me. He could have answered the phone. I called him until I had to turn off my phone and I called him the second I could turn it back on. I left him ten messages. I got this note and that’s it._

**I’ll try and get ahold of him, Dean. Just give me some time to try. There’s got to be an explanation for this.**

Ellen called him at around nine. “I’ve seen him. I haven’t talked to him yet.”

“Good. He’s still going to class. Good.”

“How is it you’re asking me where Cas is at, when he pretty much lives in your pocket?”

“He moved out while I was out west.”

“He what? That’s why he hid in the bathroom when he saw me. I’m going to wait until he’s got a class to corner him. Why did he leave?”

Dean read Ellen the note.

“Crowley,” Ellen said the name like it was a curse. “Somehow he found out.”

“You think it’s him too?”

“Well who else would it be? Everyone on the board knows you too well to think you’d do something underhanded. Listen, kid. I’ll track Castiel down and find out what’s going on in his head.”

“Thanks, Aunt Ellen.”

“And don’t you get stubborn. Crowley probably scared the pants off him.”

“I just want him to explain.”

“You’ll find out what got into him, I’m sure of that. I’ve got a diatonics class. Hang in there, kid.”

 

Dean knew he should eat, but he couldn’t bear the idea. He decided to try eating an apple with some salami and old cheddar when he heard the deep chug of a v-8 engine pull up, and caught a glimpse of Heaven Farms’ blue and white Ford in the window.

His first thought was, But Castiel’s at school and Castiel’s leaving hit him in the gut all over again.

The door knocker sounded. Dean swallowed, then walked to the front door.

Naomi Bauer stood there, alone. No one waited in the truck cab.

“I can drive, Dean Michael,” she said.

“Ma’am. I only see Inias driving that truck, I expected…”

“This isn’t a social call, boy, though this pie is for you.” She offered the familiar scratched wooden pie box.

“Thank you.” Dean took it, and backed up a pace to let her in. Naomi stepped inside and sat down in the hall chair to unlace her boots.

Dean took the box into the kitchen, and re-plated his snack for two. He put water on for tea, automatically reaching for cups, saucers, and the tea set. He raced into the dining room, but Naomi was already pulling out her chair.

“Don’t worry,” She said. “I can seat myself and I can drive.” She smiled at him, and Dean tried to smile back. Naomi’s smile faded, but her expression softened.

“My son has hurt you, Dean Michael, and I am sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dean said.

“Are you making us tea?”

“I am, Ma’am.”

“The tea you served us was so fine,” Mrs. Bauer said. “Loose leaf, I imagine. You seem the kind to serve the best.”

“I did use the good tea,” Dean agreed. “I’ll get the kettle.”

Said kettle was only beginning to whistle when Dean unplugged it and poured water into the pot. He came back to set it down before Mrs. Bauer, who immediately took over the serving, sharing out cut apple sections and slices of cheese alternating with salami. “You haven’t eaten.”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Castiel starves when he’s troubled. He didn’t eat a bite at table last night.”

“He went back to the commune?”

“He got a ride in with someone in a big fancy car. Expensive sort of thing. Whoever it was didn’t stay. He’s not home with me. He just came home last night because he needed to.”

“I understand.”

“Dean Michael, I don’t think you do.” She poured the tea, catching the leaves in the wire mesh strainer. “Castiel has always had a wild heart.”

“You told me that at the watch.”

“I did. What I mean is that he questions things by nature. He doubts.”

“I am surprised to hear you say that.”

“He’s not a bad boy,” Naomi said. “He was never disobedient. He’s very conscientious.”

“That doesn’t sound wild-hearted.”

“He’s learned a little too well,” Naomi said. “Choosing you, that was in his nature. Trying to stay with Anna, that was what he thought to be right. He was always good. And he is too willing to do his duty for the greater good, even though it hurts him.”

“It hurt me.”

“And he hates himself for it,” Naomi said. “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that. Not even if you do.”

“I don’t, Mrs. Bauer, I can’t—”

She laid her hand out and Dean took it. “You have a right to hurt, Dean Michael. He shouldn’t have left you without talking to you first.”

“I wouldn’t have let him,” Dean said.

“That’s probably why he was hustled out of here,” Naomi said. “Well. I meant to bring you that pie, Dean Michael, and I saw no reason not to after I learned that Castiel had flown out of here.”

Naomi Bauer stood up, and Dean got to his feet. “I can fetch you the box, but… I could cut the pie and put it on plates.”

“I expect you and my pie box and my pie plate at my door on Sunday,” Naomi said. “Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“Mrs. Bauer, I—”

“Not a word more,” Naomi said. “We’ll speak again on Sunday.”

“But—”

“Sunday, Dean Michael Winchester.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Naomi patted his shoulder and went out.

 


	46. Diminuendo

Castiel’s phone chirped in the middle of Keyboard Skills, right when Professor Balthazar was talking about artistry, musicality, and playing to particular strengths.

He stopped in mid-sentence and his glare hit Castiel like a hammer. Two interruptions in his class in a row? Castiel was going to get the Chef Ramsay treatment. Castiel bowed his head and took his phone out, but he swiped the unlock pattern by reflex.

**Cas what is going on?**

He held the power button down until it shut off.

“Castiel Bauer,” Professor Balthazar said silkily. “I believe that I should remind you about the requirements of this class.”

Oh, he was in for it. Castiel bowed his head and got ready to Yes Sir, No Sir, I’m sorry, Sir his way through the storm.

*

Castiel clamped his lips together when he tried to swipe something on his laptop away for the sixth time in class, and put his hand on the mouse.

Another email notification popped up in the corner and Castiel saw enough of the message:

**Cas talk to me**

He shut his email notifier off and started his class mandated personal response journal entry for the day:

 

> “I don’t want to write about my feelings. I don’t want to share them. I don’t want to experience them. I don’t want them to be real. I don’t want any of this to be real.
> 
> I want to wake up.
> 
> I catch myself asking God to please, let me wake up. Let it be a dream. Let it be a warning to me. But please don’t let this be real.
> 
> But I’m awake. And it is.”

 

Since that was over the 75 word minimum, he saved the entry and started the video about the mind/body connection. He paused it to take dutiful notes, but he was still finished with both videos before class let out.

 

He didn’t check his email.

*

“Cas,” Jo called.

Castiel stopped and turned around. He should smile at Jo. She was his friend.

He turned the corners of his mouth up. “Hi.”

“Oh God, Cas,” Jo said. “It’s  _true_.”

She knew.

“I have to go,” Castiel said.

“Wait! Sam said—”

“I have a class,” Castiel said, and hurried.

“You have Ensemble, and you’re not getting rid of me. Sam’s been texting me all morning. He’s frantic. He said you left Dean.”

“I did.”

“What the hell did you do that for?”

“I had to.”

“That doesn’t make any sense! Stop for a minute.”

He kept walking.

“Cas!” Kevin said, and rushed over to grab Castiel by the shoulder. “Sam says you left Dean and you’re not telling anyone why and you won’t talk to anyone and this has to stop right now. He’s textbombing me and he won’t stop until you talk to him.”

“I can’t, Kevin.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t face it.”

“But why did you—I thought things were good,” Kevin said.

“They were good,” Jo agrees. “They were goofy for each other.”

“What happened? Did you get cold feet?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“Cas, Sam won’t quit until you talk to him. He will stop at nothing.”

“I can’t.”

*

Jo and Kevin followed him straight into the big room they used for ensemble, and Professor Harvelle marched him straight back out again, headed for her office.

“Professor Harvelle?”

She didn’t answer until she had closed her office door behind them. “Sam Winchester called me,” Ellen said. “He told me you left Dean. Was Crowley responsible for this?”

“Dean’s a voting member of the board that selected me for the Deanna Campbell memorial scholarship and he picked my audition and I moved into his house and fell in love with him and if I stay I’ll ruin his reputation forever and the foundation will take years to get its standing back,” Castiel said.

“So, Crowley is responsible for this,” Ellen said. “Oh, kid.”

“If I stay with him I can’t stay in school and I’ll ruin him and the foundation. I couldn’t stay. Crowley said I couldn’t tell anyone. I shouldn’t tell you right now but you’re a teacher.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Crowley got me an apartment.”

“He had everything planned, didn’t he,” Ellen said. “Listen, kid. Sam is losing his mind. Talk to him. Explain it to him.”

“Crowley said no one should know.”

“Hang Crowley,” Ellen said. “Sit in here and talk to Sam. Swear him to secrecy, do whatever you need to, but talk to him.”

“He’s angry.”

“Damned right he is. Dean came home to an empty house and a two-line note. He deserves more explanation than that.”

“I can’t talk to Dean,” Castiel clutched his laptop to his chest.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Talk to Sam.”

*

Sam had left him seven short emails. They all said the same thing: **What happened? Dean is devastated. Tell me what’s going on. Why did you leave?**

Castiel put his fingers on the keyboard and pecked out:  _I had to go. Conflict of Interest. Dean chose me for the Scholarship. The scandal could destroy the foundation._

He sent the message and waited.

The response came in the chat window.  **This has to be coming from Crowley. No one else on the board would do this.**

_That’s the reason. I’ll lose my scholarship._

**Do you love him?**

_Yes._

**Then why did you leave him?**

_Because I love him. If anyone found out it would destroy him and what your grandmother built. I have to stay away. Sam, it’s not just me. I have to think of my responsibility._

**Cas, I don’t want you to give up.**

_There’s no way out of this._

**Yes there is. Withdraw from the scholarship. Dean will pay for your education.**

_I can’t ask him to do that. And people would be able to figure it out, once they knew we were together. The foundation would still suffer._

**Fine. I’ll pay for your education. I’ve got a trust fund too**.

_So you can be your brother’s procurer?_

**Fucksakes, Cas. I don’t care what people think. Dean doesn’t care either.**

_We’d hurt the foundation. I can’t allow that._

**Grandma would never want you to do this.**

_I believe you, Sam._

**Cas, do me a favor. Don’t give up.**

_I can’t be with him._

**Stop. Tell yourself you’re waiting. We’ll figure something out.**

_What could we possibly figure out?_

**A way out of this.**

_There’s nothing we can do._

**Castiel Jeremiah, you listen to me. Getting you and Dean out of this mess isn’t your job. Your job is to wait and not lose hope. You just get through today. Go to class. Try to cope. Lift weights until you think you’re going to puke and work on our duet. Call me whenever you want. Don’t cut me off.**

_We can’t fix this, Sam._

**I will. I just don’t know how yet.**

*

Castiel had clothes that looked like the sorts of things people wore to the gym. He collected them in a bag, and changed into the soft knit pants and long sleeved shirt with the lace up soft shoes he never wore, and read every notice he found on the walls.

They’re instructions, he realized. What to do and how to do it.

He went to each station and did what the sign told him to do - abdominal crunches, jumping jacks, push ups, leg lifts. He found a rack of hand held weights and tried each one until he found a pair that felt heavy, and he copied the poses in the pictures until he felt weak and dizzy. In the larger communal shower he let the water run over his face and fought the urge to cry.

He walked back to his desolate apartment and he couldn’t face the idea of food. He put his sweaty clothes away and crawled into bed with the phone plugged into the charger and called the phone in the barn.

His mother answered. “Castiel.”

“Momma,” Castiel said. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“I know, Castiel. Just listen.” She read, “ _‘I beg your pardon, I haven’t asked for anything!’_

_‘Yes, you have! Twice now. My pardon. I give it you._ _’_ ”

Castiel closed his eyes and listened to his mother read  _The Hobbit_  until he fell asleep.

*

That’s every day, now. Castiel gets up in the morning, eats plain porridge for breakfast, practices the piano, and goes to the gym to jog on the treadmill for 20 minutes. He attends class. He messages Sam to let him know he’s all right. He goes home to heat and serve the dish at the top of the stack of frozen meals. They’re too salty, but he washes them down with water. He practices the piano for 45 minutes, goes to the gym, and learns how to use the weight machines. He sets a goal to be able to do 200 sit-ups. He goes home, phones his mother, and listens to her read to him until he falls asleep.

Inias comes to fetch him on Friday night. He sleeps in his old bed. He’s up at a fully dark 5 am on Saturday, helping to wash the dairy and milk cows. He cleans stables, gathers eggs, chops wood, and chases children. Anna watches him from a distance, her short red hair fluttering in the wind, but when he looks toward her she waves in greeting and walks away.

He washes his hands in the kitchen sink and sits at his old place at the table, and listens to his mother ask God for strength and faith and health.

He works like he’s got something to make up for. When the snow falls on Sunday morning he’s the one clearing the snow off the pathways and the ice rink, piling the snow up on the borders. He sits in the innermost ring of the circles in chapel and hands rest on his back and shoulders as he tries to seek revelation and finds nothing but the hole in his chest, raw and tender and shrieking with every breath. There’s nothing but that.

All the work did was cover it up.

Castiel hides his face and tries to hold it back, but he can’t. It’s clawing up his throat as he gets up and leaves the chapel, headed down the sanded paths back to the house, inside where he clutches his elbows and curls in on himself on the sofa and keens.

Mother’s there to hold him. He hears the others come in, and they all lay a soft hand on his back in turns. Footsteps shuffle toward a knock on the door, and a low voice is hushed.

They have a caller, and he can’t stop. He tries. his breath seizes and stutters. It hurts. No work will stop it.

“Cas.”

He can’t believe what he hears, but he’s raised to his feet and in Dean’s arms. He knows it’s Dean. Feels under him like he’s real, smells like him, breathes like him.

He calms. Dean holds him and twists, sways, rocks him like he’s soothing a child. It’s Dean holding him, close and tight and safe. He can’t have this, but Cas never wants to let go.

“I think we’re holding up Sunday dinner, Cas,” Dean says. “Maybe you better wash up.”


	47. Lento

On that first Sunday, Dean had tried to get him alone, but Inias politely refused to let them out of sight or earshot.

“It’s not proper for a caller,” he said, and Inias’ presence kept the conversation from straying too far into the personal.

Dean scowled when Michael had a desire for a pipe right when Dean asked Castiel to walk with him out to the car. Michael stood on the porch and kept his eyes on them.

“Cas, what’s going on?”

He’d tried to lead Cas to the far side of the car, but Michael’s throat-clearing put an end to that.

“Why are your brothers acting like they’re standing watch over you?”

“Because they are,” Castiel said.

“What.”

Castiel grimaced. “I’m not happy to be treated like a maiden, but they’re simply adapting to fit the situation. They’re treating you like a caller, Dean. There are rules.”

“Rules? You mean of etiquette? Does your commune have an Emily Post?”

“I came running home to Mother with a broken heart. They’re making sure you don’t do it again.”

“ _Me?_  You left.”

“I did,” Castiel said. “But who left who doesn’t matter. If we were married and I left your house, you’d be treated the same if you came to win me back.”

“I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“In this case, the person you need to talk to is my mother and Michael, standing in for Father.”

“I don’t even understand what happened. Why won’t you tell me? I’m asking you.”

“Problem, Castiel?” Michael asked.

“I apologize,” Dean said promptly. “I misspoke.”

Michael puffed on his pipe and watched.

“I didn’t have a choice, Dean. Or I should say, I had a bad choice and a worse choice. I took the bad one.”

Dean crossed his arms and shifted his weight back. “What could be worse than  _this?_ ”

“This happening anyway, after destroying everything with my selfishness.”

“You’re not giving me details.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dean blew out a breath and put his hands on his head. “Okay. What am I doing.”

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “I don’t want to--I should let you go.”

“Wait,” Dean said.

Castiel stopped.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Castiel. But you’re hurting. I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay, Dean. I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Then why--Sorry,” Dean said, holding a hand up. “Okay. Are you still attending classes?”

“I am.”

“And are you coming from here to class every day?”

“No. I came here for the weekend.”

“So you have a place.”

“I shouldn’t tell you where.”

“I’m not asking,” Dean said. “So, they’re defending your virtue?”

“They’re making sure that I want what they believe you’re offering.”

“I’m not--”

“Fine night, this evening,” Michael said. “It’s a touch too cold to stand outside for long.”

“I have to go,” Castiel said.

“Wait.”

Castiel turned back.

“Should I talk to your mother?”

“If you want to,” Castiel said.

“Will you be here next Sunday?”

“I will,” Castiel said. “It’ll be your Naming day.”

 

Dean was back the next day.

He drove back up to the yellow and white house, and pulled his car up the tiny drive behind the family’s blue and white truck.

Inias was on the porch before he even got out of the Impala. “Evening, Dean. You just missed supper.”

“Timed it that way,” Dean said. “I came to ask if I could speak to Mrs. Bauer and Michael.”

“Michael’s at home,” Inias said. “But he can be brought. Come in.”

Dean stepped inside, careful to put his feet on the rubber mat meant to hold wet and muddy boots. He took them off and walked into the parlor, where Naomi waited.

“I expected you,” she said. “Benjamin, go and tell Michael to come up to the house. Then stay there and keep Lilith entertained, see if you can do anything to help Michael’s wife.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised. He waited until Benjamin was gone. “I was under the impression that you didn’t like…” he groped for a name, and realized he didn’t have one.

“I don’t,” Naomi said. “But she doesn’t try to keep my son and granddaughter from me.”

“She was very young when they married,” Inias said quietly, “after a sudden courtship.”

Dean puzzled that together, and then it clicked. “They got married about seven years ago?”

“About then,” Inias said.

Dean nodded. “I was under the impression that everyone in the commune liked everyone else.”

“She’s from Outside,” Inias said.

“Oh.”

Michael swept into the parlor. He hugged Inias and kissed his cheek, then sat beside Naomi and took her hand.

“I’m here,” he said. “Ask your questions.”

“I should get out to the shed,” Inias said, and rose to go.

“Stay and listen, Inias,” Naomi said.

“Yes, mother.” Inias settled into the rocking chair, and retrieved the now familiar sock-in-progress. He kept his eyes on his knitting, but Dean knew he would take in every word.

Michael sat back. The man was huge. At least as tall as Sam, with hands that could probably palm a basketball. He had heavy eyebrows and the same blue eyes as Castiel - the same blue, rounder in shape. Between his face, Castiel’s and Naomi’s, Dean had a good idea of what their father looked like.

“Well, Dean.”

“Michael.”

“Yes?”

“No, I mean that my middle name is Michael.”

“Ah. Good name,” he said, and smiled. “Joseph. Dean Michael, my brother has fled to his family. Explain why you should be allowed to try to win him back.”

“He left me.”

“Why did he leave you? What have you done, Dean Michael?”

“I haven’t done anything. He left me.”

Michael and Naomi looked disapproving.

“Blame falls on both heads, Dean Michael,” Inias said softly behind him. “Think.”

Dean thought. He didn’t have an explanation for why Castiel left. All he had was the story about the board—

Oh.

“I’m on the board of directors for the Campbell Foundation, the organization that handles the Campbell scholarship,” Dean explained. “I never told Castiel. I hardly think of it myself, because I know I’m only on the board because Deanna Campbell was my grandmother.”

“You didn’t think that was important?” Michael asked.

“No,” Dean said. “I’m not important. I look good in photographs. My position on the board is about the image.”

“So you have no power in your position?” Naomi asked.

“I could, but I’ve always left it up to the others. They have experience and knowledge.” Dean folded his hands, and studied the lace doily on the little table between him and Castiel’s mother and brother. It was ringed with roses, coloured pink.

Michael pursed his lips and watched Dean. His silence left Dean scrambling to fill it.

“I may have had a hand in Castiel’s selection for the scholarship.”

“You  _may_  have.” Michael’s eyebrows came down, his blue eyes sharp.

“I voted on the recordings all the candidates made. They were anonymous. I didn’t know the names of the musicians I listened to, I didn’t know anything but what I could hear. I might not have chosen Castiel’s recording. But I think I must have.”

Naomi cocked her head and frowned. “That seems a small thing to separate you.”

Dean nodded to Naomi. “People don’t much care for the truth behind appearances, Ma’am. I didn’t know that I would later meet Castiel, or that we would become involved.”

“But you did,” Inias said.

Dean twisted around to look at Castiel’s younger brother. “The optics are bad - I mean, it appears as if I used my influence and power to exploit the Campbell Scholar.”

“And you didn’t,” Michael said, but made it sound like a question.

“I didn’t,” Dean said. “We just happened.”

They looked at each other. At Inias, who kept knitting.

Explaining what Dean had done to cause this was hard, but the more he considered it, the more sense it made to tell Castiel’s family. They stood at a remove that Dean didn’t have with Castiel, nor Castiel with him. He took a deep breath, and waited for their word.

“Well, Inias. What do you think?”

“He’s truthful,” Inias said. “Careless and neglectful of his duties, but honest.”

Dean couldn’t even be angry. He had been.

“He’s truthful,” Michael said. “He was foolish and ignorant.”

“He’s truthful,” Naomi said.

Dean sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

“We’re not done yet, Dean Michael. Do you mean to repair this?”

“I don’t know how yet,” Dean said. “But I’ll find a way.”

“It might be easier to stay away and let Castiel’s heart heal,” Michael said.

“Does he want me to stay away?” Dean asked.

“He thinks it’s the right thing to do,” Inias said.

“But is it what he _wants_ ,” Dean said. “If he wants me to go, I’ll go, but I want to try, if he’ll let me.”

“He can try to win Castiel back,” Naomi said.

“You can try, Dean Michael,” Inias said. “You can try to convince him to put his sense of duty aside, but he’s stubborn.”

“You can try to win my brother back,” Michael said. “So long as it’s what he wants.”

“Michael Joseph, you have eyes,” Naomi said, exasperated. “Use them next Sunday, and see.”

  
  



	48. Zeloso

Dean called Sam as soon as he got home.

“Sam, this whole thing is weird.”

“So you’re back from seeing Cas’s mother. How did it go?”

“I think I managed to not fuck it up.”

“What happened?”

“They called me foolish and neglectful and made me describe what I’d done wrong in excruciating detail, and then said I could try to win Castiel back.”

“That’s good.”

“But he left me. And they were asking me what I did. Like it was my fault!”

“Dean,” Sam said. “Think a minute. Hang on.”

Dean could hear Sam talking to his roommate, Jake Talley, about some detail about who was going to go and get produce, comparing schedules and locations.

“Sorry about that. Had to divide the labor fairly.”

“Okay what were you saying.”

“I was saying that it occurred to me over Christmas,” Sam said. “But I decided to wait and see what uncle Bobby had to say about it. And he just acted like nothing was wrong with you two being together, so I thought it was okay.”

“Yeah, maybe not so much,” Dean said. “I just didn’t think of it, Sam.”

“Maybe there’s a way to deal with this quietly. Try talking to Crowley. Maybe you two can work something out.”

*

“I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting. I can take a message for you and ask him to call you back when he has a moment?”

“Listen, Janine, this is Dean Winchester.”

“Hello.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t met before, I’m on the board of directors, and life keeps me pretty busy. I’m going to be in and out of meetings myself. Can you give me an idea when Crowley will be out of that meeting?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea, Mr. Winchester, but I’ll be sure to let him know you want to talk to him.”

*

“Campbell Foundation, this is Janine speaking.”

“Janine! Dean Winchester,” Dean said. “Is Crowley out of that meeting?”

“I’m afraid you just missed him, he’s gone for lunch.”

“Do you know if he got my message?”

“I watched him read it, just before he left for lunch.”

“Thanks Janine. I guess I’ll have a little lunch myself.”

*

Dean wound up eating only half a bowl of soup before he couldn’t face any more food. He shoved his phone in his pocket and packed his darling into the impala and drove to Edlund Hall, entering through front of house.

“I’m looking for Dr. Ellen Harvelle.”

“She’s in the audience. I think she’s expecting you.”

Dean thanked the security officer, who poked her nose back inside Vogue and forgot all about him.

The house lights were on. That made things easier. It made the stage less intimidating. Ellen waited for him in the front row, and got up to give him a hug.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Oh get up there. Don’t worry about anything but tuning up and playing your scale. We’ll come back tomorrow. Same time?”

“Same time, Dean said.

*

He didn’t puke on stage. He got through the an A-major scale. But by the end he was in a cold sweat and he wished he hadn’t even eaten that bowl of soup.

“I’m not going to be ready,” Dean said.

“You’ll be ready. Prove it. B flat major, let’s hear it.”

Dean bowed the scale out quickly. He didn’t fumble.

“Okay, you’ve surpassed expectation,” Ellen said. “Still in a panic?”

“Yeah.”

“Ready to stop?”

“No,” he said, and played a series of arpeggios.

“Mary had a little lamb.”

Dean smirked and played it.

“Old MacDonald had a farm.”

 _Ee eye ee eye oh_ , Dean’s cello responded.

“There, you’re even smiling.”

“Because this is silly.”

“Good,” Ellen said. “Silly is good. Let’s stop.”

*

Crowley never called him back.

He tried again first thing in the morning. Janine put him through, but he wound up listening to a voicemail greeting. He left the most courteous message he could manage, and kept touching the pocket his phone rested in while he ran down to the lake and back.

Crowley didn’t call while he was in the shower. He didn’t call while Dean practiced the Sonata and the Caprice he’d discovered on the album of a Canadian cellist. He didn’t call while Dean was eating hummus spread over home baked pita chips.

Dean figured he’d call right in the middle of his drive to Edlund Hall, but his phone remained silent, even when he took a deep breath and played a lonely, regretful baroque sonata form to a darkened house. It was only Ellen out there, and she was pulling for him.

He got through it. Barely, but he made it.

“You’re ready kid. You can do it.”

“I feel sick.”

“That’s all right,” Ellen said. “You hung in there. You did exactly what you needed to do.”

“Thanks, Aunt Ellen. Thank you.”

“I’ve been waiting for this for years, kid. Is it Castiel?”

“In a way, I’m doing this because of him,” Dean said, and put his bow and cello away. “Because he came up with the idea.”

“But you’re not doing it for him.”

“No,” Dean said. “Even if he doesn’t come back.”

“I didn’t know a thing about it. If Crowley got the board behind him, he never told me. Or Bobby. We would have fought for you.”

“I know you would have, Aunt Ellen,” Dean said. “Uncle Bobby, too.”

“If he has to drop out of the scholarship, we’ll figure something out. I don’t think Castiel should have to do that, but if he does.”

“If he’d let us.”

“Say the word and I’ll talk to him, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “But Sam’s looking into something. You’re already helping me by doing this.”

*

Crowley didn’t call.

Dean tried calling him back, and Janine was sympathetic, but would still only take a message. Sam had evening rehearsals. There wasn’t anyone to talk to.

So Dean poured himself a beer and sat down in front of Netflix to catch up on his list. He was partway through an episode of Wallander when his phone finally rang.

“Hello.”

“Yes, is that Dean Winchester?”

Crowley called back when Dean was on his third beer. Well. Perfect.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean said.

“I understand that you’ve been anxious to talk.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s about Castiel Bauer.”

“I know who he is, of course.”

“Yeah. Listen, I think that this conflict of interest thing is something we can clear up pretty quickly if we all got together and talked about it. I’d like to set up a meeting—”

“What was that? Dean Winchester, actually attend a meeting?”

“This is important.”

“The foundation is important, Winchester. You bagging yourself some farm-fresh strange is not.”

“Don’t talk about Castiel that way.”

“Do you have any idea how much work goes into this organization, how quickly the value of a charitable foundation tanks in the face of scandal? I’m sure you don’t,” Crowley said. His accent made everything he said take on a scathing air. Dean’s hackles rose.

“I know it takes a lot of work. I’ve seen the e-mail.”

“E-mail you don’t read. Meetings you don’t attend. You have no idea what it takes to make the foundation matter to people who have the means to support it.”

“You and I both know that I’m on the board for show,” Dean said. “I don’t take a hand in the process because I’m just the face.”

“Oh yes. The face. You just sail in once a year, have your picture taken, and sign whatever they tell you to sign. You have no idea what you could have done to us.”

“And I think we can work something out,” Dean said, “If you’d just—”

“If I’m lucky this won’t ever get out. If you’re lucky it won’t either, and your face will continue to catch the eye of wishful women with money.”

“We can be discreet—”

“Do you call sucking your lover’s face in the lobby of the Hyatt on New Year’s Eve discreet?”

“How did you know about that—”

“I’ve looked into it, and there’s no way I can remove you from the board, so I’ll just have to try and keep you and your dick from setting the whole thing ablaze. Find yourself another playtoy, Winchester. You can’t have everything you want.”

****  
  



	49. Con sordino

The next Sunday, Dean arrived clean shaven and dressed to Meet the Family. He wore a deep maroon red dress shirt with a gold and brown checked tie, deep brown trousers, and the aftershave that was herbal and woody, with a touch of vetiver lurking underneath. He took a tip from Sam’s style and layered a quilted nylon vest under a tweed sport coat, then changed his mind about it. And changed his mind again.

Finally he took a selfie and sent it to Sam. Do I look like a douchebag in this?

**You’re dressed like me, you ass.**

_Tell me I look stupid and I’ll change._

**You look fine** , Sam sent.  **Are you going to call on Castiel?**

_Yes. Sam it’s weird. His brothers watch me like hawks._

**It’s where he comes from, Dean. He adapted to us. Adapt to him.**

 

“You look nice,” Castiel said.

“You do too.”

Castiel smiled ruefully. He wore thick woolen trousers and a heathered gray-brown sweater, thick with ropes of braids and woven knitting that must have taken forever. He looked like the Castiel he’d first met, in a lot of ways, back when they had no idea what was going to happen between them.

Castiel offered his hand to shake and Dean took it, disappointed that it wasn’t a hug. Or a kiss. “Mother is in the parlor,” Castiel said, and led the way.

She wore another high necked dress with dozens of buttons down the front. “You’re in good time, Dean. Supper is nearly ready. Please sit down.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Castiel has things in hand. You look very sharp, Dean Michael. That red is right on you. Tell me about your week.”

Dean skipped over the enraging conversation he’d had with Crowley and spoke of practicing a new sonata form. “It’s taking up most of my time, and I’ve got my brother helping me with it over the internet.”

“Do you play for him over the telephone?”

“Essentially,” Dean said. “He can hear me playing live, but I can record the music and send it to him.”

“If only you could make a record. I would like to listen to your music, Dean Michael. Castiel tells me that you are very good.”

“Castiel is kind,” Dean said.  “I’m glad to be in his thoughts.”

Castiel re-appeared at the threshold to the parlor. “Dinner is ready.”

 

Dinner was a pork roast that had Dean eating with his eyes closed, next to a herb-savory dressing and roasted sweet potatoes. Dessert was his own little apple pie, spiced the way Castiel made it. It was all Castiel’s cooking, he was told, and Dean didn’t say that he’d already recognized it from the times Castiel had taken charge of the kitchen at home.

“It’s been a help, having Castiel here on the weekends. He works so hard,” Naomi said.

“I imagine there’s a lot of work to do here year round.”

“Right now, we’re in the midst of seed and bulb sales, and calving season will start soon. Castiel has always been good around the cattle and the sheep. They like it when he sings,” Inias said.

“You sing, Castiel?”

“To cows,” Castiel said. “They’re the only ones who like it.”

Dean laughed.

 

Castiel was kept busy while Dean spent more time talking to Inias and Naomi. He’d sat in a corner of the parlor and spun yarn, listening to the talk but not saying much unless specifically addressed. They’d only sat and talked for twenty minutes before Naomi said, “I’d better retire, and Inias has to take Castiel back to the college. They will see you out.”

He barely even spoke to Castiel the whole evening, and now Inias would be standing right there for the bare minutes he would get.

“Your mother told me,” he said. “Cas, I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that.”

“There are consequences beyond just us, Dean. I can’t ignore them.”

“Then we’ll fix them. Cas, we can fix this.”

He wants to believe. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I can pay for your schooling, Cas. You know that, don’t you?”

“I couldn’t let you do it. Or Sam either. He offered too.”

“All right. Castiel. Will you be here next Sunday?”

“I will,” Castiel said. “It’s the feast of light. There will be music.”

  
  


By the next Thursday Castiel knew he had set his fitness goals too low. He was already up to seven sets of 25 sit-ups. The exertion of the gym was his substitute for the hard work of caring for cattle and sheep, of the gentler work of coaxing green things to flourish in the commune’s heated greenhouse. He lifted his weights in a slow and graceful progression of moves, not content to simply repeat twenty bicep curls when he could make it more challenging by slowing the motions down.

He took Sam’s advice and lifted weights until he simply couldn’t do one more rep, and then hauled himself up to stretch and join a yoga class. He enjoyed stretching with Lisa.

He wondered if he could talk to her, or if she would be angry at him the way she was angry at Cassie. Maybe he better not try. It really was too much to ask. But the stretching and movements between postures felt peaceful.

The class was usually full of women, but there was a new guy near the back. He smiled and nodded at Castiel. He supposed it was a greeting and nodded back, and then concentrated on his postures.

 

Castiel had no idea what the etiquette was when you saw someone you nodded to outside of a changing room when you saw them again inside a shower, so he just repeated the gesture and then let the water run over his head so he had to close his eyes. He dressed quickly and headed out, but he had to wait for the desk attendant to come back and unlock his wallet and phone for him, so he saw the new yoga student again.

He had short dark hair and a tidy beard and large dark eyes. He was about as tall as Castiel was, though he didn’t look as strong. Perhaps he’d only just started going to the gym.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Castiel replied. “Was that your first yoga class?”

“Did it show?” he laughed.

“No, it’s just that I hadn’t ever seen you before.”

“I guess men in a yoga class kind of stick out. I’m Aaron,” he stuck out his hand.

“Castiel.” Cas shook it, and Aaron smiled.

“So do you do that post workout protein intake thing?”

“I do. Whey and Casein.”

“They happen to serve that at the juice bar in student services,” Aaron said. “Do you want to go get one?”

“Oh I usually mix one up when I get home,” Castiel said, and then ran the question through in his head. “Wait.”

“Yeah I thought, maybe we had a thing back in that yoga class.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “I didn’t mean to give that impression.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Aaron said. “I hope I didn’t freak you out or anything.”

“I’m okay, Aaron,” Castiel said, and opened the door for them. “You didn’t freak me out. I’m just… at a complicated time in my life.”

“Is that supposed to make you less interesting? Sorry,” Aaron said. “I’m kind of unstoppable.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel said. “I don’t know how to explain. It’s a long story. But my heart is not free.”

“Unrequited or separated?”

“Separated.”

“I’m a sucker for a sad story, Castiel. Why don’t we go get that juice anyway. I promise to behave.”

  
  


Castiel sat down with his laptop and opened a chat with Sam. It was time to make sure that Sam knew he was… Not all right. But still moving, and still going through the motions of life.

He’d leave the laptop behind when Inias came to fetch him back to Heaven tomorrow evening. He’d send Sam an email when he got home Sunday night, before crawling into bed.

_The gym has been helpful, Sam._

**Yeah? I thought maybe all the work you have to do on a farm, you’d need the activity.**

_I am already close to my goal of 200 sit-ups. I will have to think of something else._

**How about weight added? Hug a freeweight.**

_Maybe something to do with legs._

**Have you been spending all your time in the gym?**

_Most of it. I met a man there today._

There was a noticeable pause before Sam’s next message came through.  **Uh, like someone you want to date?**

_I don’t want to date anyone, Sam. I don’t know if that will change._

**What about Dean?**

Dean. Castiel remembered him, clean shaven and well dressed, paying proper attention to his mother and Michael. His chest ached.  _I should stop him from calling on me on Sundays, but I can’t._

**Why not?**

_I don’t want to. I shouldn’t let him but I count the minutes instead of seeking revelation._

**You don’t have to move back in with him, Cas. You could date.**

_I suggested that. Crowley said it wouldn’t make things better. I shouldn’t see him at all, but I can’t stop._

**Maybe you won’t have to, Cas. We’re still working on it. Hang in there.**


	50. Audition: Reprise

Everyone here looked so  _young._

Dean took a seat in view of the audition door and drank his Alka-Seltzer and Gatorade cocktail quickly. It was Charlie’s tried and true hangover cure. It settled nausea.

Dean really needed that.

His time slot was coming up in 15 minutes, and the closer he got, the worse he felt. He was going to wait on the alka-seltzer but it just got too bad to handle.

He turned on his iPad and sent a message to Sam:  _I’m gonna hurl._

**Not allowed. Feet on the floor. Breathe.**

Dean re-set his feet and put his hands on the shoulders of his cello. Students had stopped to admire and envy it. Most of them were still working with new instruments, so his antique excited comments.

Everyone auditioning today was here for strings. The waiting area was noisy with snatches of audition pieces, tuning, and snippets of conversation. And they were all so young. If Dean hadn’t derailed when he had, he would have already graduated.

But here he was, among the other hopefuls.

_I’m surrounded by babies._

**And you used to walk ten miles to school in the snow, gramps. Relax. You have the piece down. You’re going to make it.**

_I have to, or your plan is screwed._

**My plan is awesome. This is going to work. You will make it, Sam sent. By the way, I talked to Cas last night.**

_Did he say anything?_

**He told me that you were calling on him. He told me that he couldn’t stop you from coming.**

_What, like I’m forcing him to see me?_

**No, idiot. Like he doesn’t want to stop you.**

_Well that’s not bad._

**It’s good. And I talked to Jody Mills.**

_So how many is that?_

**So far? I only have Victor and Pamela left.**

_What do you figure they’ll say?_

**The same thing, Dean.**

_What if I don’t make it?_

**You’ll make it, Sam sent.**

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean got up. “Here.”

“You’re up, Dean Winchester.”

Okay here we go. Dean got to his feet and went inside the auditorium.

The stage was lit, a single chair and a music stand the only furniture. Dean exhaled as he walked up the stage and onto the thrust.

“Hello, I’m Dean Winchester,” he said. “And I’m going to play [ _Cappricio primo_  by Giuseppe Maria Dall’Abaco.”](http://music.cbc.ca/#/play/Michael-Morreale/playlist/Giuseppe-Maria-DallAbaco)

Movement in the audience, but only a little. “Please begin.”

Dean exhaled again, but he didn’t put his bow on the strings.

He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the light, the way he’d seen Castiel do it, and what ran through his mind was the same phrase that Castiel told him he said before every performance:  _Help me, God. Work through me and make this beautiful._

The first fluttering notes sang warm and sorrowful, and the stage slipped away. Dean watched the sheet music unfold in his mind - the manuscript was beautiful, hand-written, with an elegant sweep to the bars connecting notes. He saw it in that old hand and in his own. He followed the music, let it speak.

His stomach still churned, but it was far away from gut strings and horsehair, far from the presence he played to—far from the dreamlike baroque music. Fear was for later.

Right now, he played, and shut everything else aside.

 

He called Sam once he packed up and walked out of the music building.

“Dean. Have you puked yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Did you do it on stage?”

Dean paused at a traffic light, waiting for his turn to cross. He could see Baby, sitting in the far corner of the lot across the street.

_“Dean.”_

“No, Sam. I waited until after I was done,” Dean said.

“Did you fuck it up?”

“You know what? I don’t think I did,” Dean said. “I think I did all right.”

“Okay,” Sam said, and blew out a hard breath. “Woo. Victor called me back.”

“What did he have to say?”

“Same as everyone else.”

“Really,” Dean said. He stepped carefully on the parking lot, wary of ice.

“I think Pamela will say the same thing, Dean. Or I guess should say, not-say the same thing.”

“I wish you could ask.”

“Don’t worry about that. Go home. You did great, Dean. You pulled off the hard part.”

“You’re assuming I’ll get in.”

Sam laughed. “All you had to do was not puke on the stage.”

“Or drop my bow.”

“Or break a string.”

“Or break the chair.”

“Or play a quarter tone too sharp.”

“Or forget to check the rosin. What else was on the list?”

“Trip going up the stairs and smash my antique concert cello.”

“Oh yeah. So none of that happened?”

“None of it.”

“Well then. I think you got this.”

*

Castiel stank. He’d been at the calving barns, and there were enough newborn or about to be born calves to keep four of him busy. Inias had come in to relieve him of watching over the cattle and he trudged down the path and around the back to let himself in the shed.

All of his clothes went into the washer, and he rinsed the soles of his rubber boots in the concrete basin before placing them on a rack. He washed in the chilly shed with a basin and a cloth, thinking longingly of the tub upstairs. Mother had hung a new set of clothes on a peg for him. He dressed quickly and went into the kitchen, stopping short as he found a blushing Anna sitting in one of the wooden chairs with her hands folded on the table.

Her hair had grown some. It lay on her shoulders now, deep red and shining. She wore a dark blue jumper dress over a white blouse with long, full sleeves clasped at the wrist.

“Castiel. I—I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t quite suppress the smile. “Sorry, Anna. I was filthy. Mother would have chased me out with a switch if I’d come in like that.”

“I should have expected,” she said.

“No harm done. Did you come for supper?”

“I did, and decided to stay when Inias said he was going to relieve you at the calving.”

“It’s busy this time. Busy early. That could be trouble.”

“Everyone will work together,” Anna said. “It’s minute steak.”

“I can cook it,” Castiel said.

“You sit down. You’ve been running back and forth for hours. I can cook your supper.”

She got up and turned on the gas flame, set a pan on top of it. “I wanted to talk to you, Castiel Jeremiah.”

“I’m listening.”

“I didn’t love you,” Anna said.

“Oh.” It shouldn’t hurt. He was a fool.

“You know what it’s like for me at home. My sisters, the crowding. When your parents and mine arranged our pairing I was happy, but not because I thought of you especially.”

“Then what did you think of?”

The meat sizzled in the pan, and Anna emptied cooked potatoes and sauteed onions in beside it to reheat.

“Our home,” Anna said. “A house with just you and me, and everything in it for our comfort. Your beautiful music, but peace and quiet and no sisters shrieking and bickering. That as soon as I was old enough, I’d have a place where what I said mattered, where I could hear myself think.”

“I sympathise.”

“Do you?” She said, amused.

“Michael was always that much older, and then Inias was only a bit younger. If it hadn’t been for music, I would have felt invisible.”

“So it would be,” Anna said. “Inias takes me out walking.”

“Are you courting?”

“No,” Anna said. “He’s a good friend.”

“He’s quiet,” Castiel said. “And he plays the fiddle.”

“Get him in here and you can show me his strong teeth.”

“Sorry,” Castiel said. “I keep hoping.”

“I know you do, Castiel,” Anna said, and turned the steak over. “You’re romantic and idealistic and you are a blockhead. Maybe I’ll change my mind about Inias. Maybe he’ll get sick of waiting for me. It’s been years already, how much more can he stand?”

“I don’t know.”

“What I really want,” Anna said. “Is a quiet home. You were a means to that end, Castiel.”

“Does that mean you’re not angry with me?”

“Annoyed, but yes. I’m not angry. But I am annoyed. What are you doing here, Castiel? That Dean Winchester adores you.”

“I had to.”

“Ah. Your sense of duty, again?”

She laid the plate in front of him and Castiel took her hands when she sat down.

“Thank you for cooking for me, Anna, and thank you for coming to talk sense into me when I can’t see it. The light of God shines through you and onto me.”

“Thanks also be with you, Castiel,” Anna said. “Now answer me.”

“I did what I had to do.” Castiel cut off a corner, and saw the flesh inside was still bright pink. She’d done it perfectly.

“Look what doing your duty did last time, Castiel. You’re hurting yourself. You’re hurting him.”

“What else can I do? There’s something bigger than just the two of us in the balance.” Castiel ate a potato, just barely crisped from its time in the pan.

“I came to tell you that I’m going to move out of my house, and into the green cottage.”

“The green cottage? It’s tiny.”

“Perfect for just me.”

“You want to live in the green cottage alone?” Castiel asked. “It’s not proper.”

“I don’t care,” Anna said. “It’s what I want.”

“That’s what you think I should do,” Castiel said. “What I want.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“Dean talked to your mother, and Michael, and Inias Monday before last. Did you know that?”

“They hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Who made your supper last Sunday?”

“Me.”

Anna smiled sweetly. “All of it? By yourself?”

“Yes, I—”

Castiel stared at Anna, open-mouthed. “No.”

“Yes,” Anna said. “Did they leave you only the corner to sit in?”

“I spent the whole call spinning,” Castiel said, and stabbed his steak a little too hard. “Dean doesn’t know what it means.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Anna said. “Dean knows what he wants. It’s only you balking.”

“If there was any way I could—”

“Find it, Castiel Jeremiah. Now eat your supper and get some sleep. You have an important caller for the feast of lights tomorrow.”

 


	51. Tempo di Valse

The next Sunday, Dean expected to be back in the Hall but the lights blazed in Castiel’s yellow and white house, so he parked and took a chance.

Every light, lamp and candle in the house was lit, and the parlor rug leaned in a tight roll on the stairs. Music thumped out of Cas’s piano and Inias’ fiddle. A girl with a flute and black hair to her thighs played a [reel](http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Master+Crowley+s+Reels/3scHFq?src=5) that Dean knew he couldn’t keep up with. That had to be Jenny, by the way Hester was staring at her.

“Dean has come,” Benjamin said, and gave him a thick round of shortbread.

“You brought your cello,” Castiel said.

“Castiel, it’s my turn to play,” Lilith said.

“It’s Lulu’s turn,” Castiel announced. “And then it will be time for bed.”

“But Dean just got here,” Lilith objected.

“And he came just in time to hear your song,” Castiel said.

Lilith scrambled onto the seat and played a Haydn song Dean would have assumed was a little advanced for her, but she handled it.

“That was good,” Dean said. “What grade is that?”

“Three,” she said. “Castiel got me all the books for our nameday.”

“And you’re already playing out of the grade three book?”

“She’s learning out of five,” Castiel said, and Dean’s eyebrows went up.

“Does it run in the family?” Dean asked.

Castiel laughed. “It does in yours, doesn’t it?”

Lilith went upstairs to sleep without further complaint, a feat that Sam would have never managed when he was that age.

“Dean hasn’t danced yet,” Jenny said. “Dean you have to dance, you didn’t dance once at the Watch.”

“I don’t know any contradances.”

“What do you know how to dance?” Hester asked.

“The Waltz,” Dean said, and looks flew between Naomi, Inias, and Michael.

“I’m sure Dean can—” Castiel said, but Naomi got up.

“I believe it’s my turn at the piano,” she said. “You may dance with your caller, Castiel.”

Cas nodded and stood up, and bowed when Dean came near.

No one else was dancing with them. Michael sat in a chair in the corner, while Benjamin had eyes for nothing but the fiddle in Inias’s hands. Jenny stayed with her flute, looking excited, and Hester stood next to the stairs and watched as Dean took Castiel in a closed hold with plenty of space between them.

Cas relaxed in the frame of that hold, his left hand light as air on Dean’s shoulder, his right hand soft in Dean’s left. Properly, they were supposed to look over their partner’s shoulder, but Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Cas’s.

Naomi had counted out six beats of the tempo, so when the music started Dean stepped forward as Castiel stepped back and they were dancing, under Michael’s watchful gaze in the corner. This dance wasn’t the whirling giddiness of Strauss. Dean recognized it as a few measures of  [Mozart, arranged for a folk dance](http://www.bfv.com/regency/sussex.mp3). Dean danced with Castiel and he was good enough that Dean led him through an under arm turn and Cas seemed to know it was coming, and landed back in his hold perfectly. Dean wondered if they could dance so well in contact, but knew there was no way he would get away with dancing so close.

The music wound down. Dean gave Cas one last turn and he came back to the hold in Dean’s arms.

They hadn’t looked anywhere but at each other the whole time. Dean wanted to kiss him so bad he could feel Castiel’s mouth opening, could feel his breath the instant before.

He let go of his hold and bowed.

“You brought your cello, Dean Michael,” Naomi said. “What did you mean to play for us?”

“There was a sonata I learned a bit back,” Dean answered. “I planned on performing it for Castiel...when I got home from Los Angeles.”

“Is it Bach?” Castiel asked.

“It’s not Bach,” Dean said, and got his cello out.

“You brought your good cello,” Castiel said. He watched Dean pull down the long peg that the cello rested on.

“It sounded better on the gut strings,” Dean said.

“Mother, that cello is nearly two hundred years old,” Cas said.

Castiel played an A for him and Dean tuned on the fifth. Castiel stayed seated at the piano, where Dean couldn’t see him. Naomi watched, her hands on her lap. They all watched, and Dean felt the panic rising up, just as it had the first time he performed this piece.

He breathed, counted four, and laid his bow down.

[The opening notes](https://soundcloud.com/elinor-frey/galli-sonata-quinta) were  slow, deep, and woeful. The melody picked up the feeling of a voice, singing a story that still made the teller’s heart beat fast to relate it, but a story told of what happened before the sadness the singer returned to. It was old, older than Bach, the composer nearly forgotten, half his works credited to someone more famous.

He ended the song to a silent room.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said.

“It’s getting late,” Naomi said. “I should retire. Benjamin, you should have been abed long ago.”

“I’ll take Lilith home,” Michael said.

“We should get home ourselves,” Jenny said, and Hester got up with her.

“I still have some work that needs to get done,” Inias said. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

The parlor was clear in under a minute, the main floor of the house quiet in two.

Dean blinked. He stared around at the empty room. No brothers watched him, ready to speak the moment he stepped over the line. He looked at Castiel, who watched him with soft eyes and a tender smile.

“What just happened?”

“You’re allowed to be out of sight, but if it gets too quiet in here, Inias will come and check on us.”

“Why, Cas.”

“They’ve decided we’re courting now.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

“Not yet.”

“Does that mean Inias is awake to give you a ride back to the apartment?”

“Yes.”

“They decided,” Dean said. “Are we courting now, Cas? I think your opinion matters more than theirs.”

Doubt flashed over Castiel’s face, and Dean’s guts froze.

“I want to,” Castiel said.

“I want to,” Dean said. “That doesn’t mean yes.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care, Cas. I’m just a pretty face and the family legacy. I don’t matter to the Foundation.”

Castiel opened his mouth to object, and Dean touched a finger to his lips.

“You don’t have to say yes. Not right now. But we’re not courting until you say yes.”

“Dean, we  _shouldn’t_.”

“Listen, Castiel Jeremiah. Sam has a plan. And your job is to wait, and not lose hope.”

“To have faith,” Castiel said.

“Yes. Will you be here next Sunday?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Dress to go walking.”

  
  


Castiel was still deciding if he missed the intensity of a solo workout, or if he preferred the lighter pace while he helped Aaron get started as a novice.  Aaron needed more cardio training than he did, so they spent more time on bikes and treadmills.

“Three more, Aaron, we can do it,” Castiel said.

“Three? Fuck, I don’t remember why I thought you were cute,” Aaron panted. “You’re an evil sadist.”

“Two more, then,” Castiel said, and pushed the cadence of his pedaling.

Aaron put his head down and kept pedaling. “Two more. Legs and Cardio.”

“One point six,” Castiel said. “One mile. That’s all.”

Castiel coaxed Aaron to push himself, encouraging, cajoling. “Point two. Last sprint.”

Castiel let out the last of his reserves and pedaled faster. He didn’t let on that his last half kilometer was on an uphill grade. It wasn’t that steep. Just enough to keep it interesting.

Aaron stumbled off the exercise bike and lay down on a padded mat, breathing hard. “I regret trying to date you, Castiel.”

“You made it.”

“I’m going to die.”

“Are you hurt?” Castiel asked.

“No. Just, I’m so glad that’s over,” Aaron said. “I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

“Do you want to skip tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then no,” Aaron said. “Buy you a shake?”

“I can make us some,” Castiel said. “You can buy me one tomorrow, when you come work out again.”

“Done.”

 

Aaron was a funny guy. He was in his second year, taking Engineering with the goal of becoming an architect. He talked a bit about his love of buildings, but spent more time asking Castiel about his Sundays with Dean.

“Wait, and so you danced with him after your mom said it was okay? Was that romantic, or too many family members?”

“It was both.”

“Are you getting back together?”

“We can’t. I know we can’t.”

“But you can’t tell him to give it up. Is that fair?”

Castiel shook his head and let the blender roar. The cocoa powder swirled down into milk and protein powder, grew a skim of frothy bubbles on top.

“It’s not,” Castiel said. “But I don’t know how to let go.”

Aaron leaned his elbows on the kitchen bar and watched Castiel pour equal shares into tall glasses. “You’re still seeing him. That doesn’t help feelings fade. Even if he’s not allowed to touch you. Except for the dancing. In front of your mother and all your brothers.”

“Nothing has faded,” Cas admitted, and he drank his shake in deep, fast gulps. It was chocolaty and sweet, though the tang of stevia wasn’t something Cas enjoyed.

“Cas, you remind me of the good Jewish boy my mother thinks I am. But if you’re going to end this, you need to get him out of your system. See someone else.” Aaron toasted Castiel with his whey and casein shake. “And I don’t mean me. Very much.”

“I worry it’ll never be the same.”

“It won’t be,” Aaron said. “Everyone is different. They won’t be the same, can’t be. What you are really worried about is will they be enough.”

“I can’t ask someone to be enough,” Castiel said.

“No, I guess you can’t,” Aaron said. “But you could ask a friend for help. Small steps. Like a kiss.”

“I only have… maybe two friends I could ask that.”

“Pick the one who’s right in front of you.” Aaron gave a little wave and sucked on his straw.

Castiel laughed. “You really are unstoppable.”

“I’m the worst,” Aaron agreed.

“But I don't want to use you.”

Aaron scoffed. “I’m not talking boyfriends, here. Just a kiss. I can handle that.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone but Dean,” Castiel said.

“You don’t have to,” Aaron said. “If you think it would be too awkward. I mean you know I’m really attracted to you but I totally don’t mind at all if you don’t want to—”

Aaron stopped talking as Castiel took his protein shake away, bent over, and kissed him.

The beard was different. It felt softer than Castiel would have guessed, and it tickled the edges of his lips. But that feeling that rose in him, the excitement and whirling pleasure didn’t come. Aaron knew how to kiss, even if he didn’t quite do what Dean would have. He grabbed the back of Castiel’s neck and held him in place, angled his head to make their lips fit together better, made a pleased noise when their tongues met. It was good. But the thrill over his skin when Dean held him still didn’t come. He waited, tried more, even put Aaron’s hand on his nipple and that sparked…something.

But it wasn’t the sweeping sensation of excitement and need, and Aaron drew away, and Castiel didn’t need to tell him.

“Wasn’t enough,” Aaron said, and Castiel shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“You ought to be sorry. I’m going to remember that kiss for weeks,” Aaron poked Castiel in the shoulder. “I’m going to have to go on a  _quest_  to find a better kiss than that.”

“I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. But I revise my opinion. A guy who can teach you to kiss like that ought to be kept.” Aaron said. “I vote you sneak around with him until you graduate. Become a master of disguise. Slink into trashy motels. Have phone sex on burner cells.”

“If there wasn’t something bigger to consider, I would.”

“Cas, is there anyone who knows about your situation who agrees with you? Think about that.” Aaron took his glass into the kitchen and rinsed it out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 


	52. Sul ponticello

Dean wore his most comfortable boots and extra layers to brave the cold that Sunday. They could walk together, Castiel said. They were allowed to be out of sight, or out of earshot, but not both. It was so cold out, but Dean wasn’t going to give up the chance.

Castiel answered the door, smiled warmly, and closed the door behind Dean before helping him take off his coat and scarf. Castiel chafed Dean’s hands in his to warm them, and the touches were sending little jolts along his back.

Sunday Dinner was a hearty stew with bread that Dean knew Castiel made the moment he smelled it. He had two helpings and dried the dishes, handing them to Benjamin to put away. But as the time for their walk together drew near, Castiel grew pensive.

“Do you want to stay in?” Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head.

“I want to talk to you,” Castiel said.

“Okay,” Dean said, and hung up the flour sack towel to dry.

 

They dressed in their layers and went out.

“It’s acceptable for us to walk together without one of my brothers as long as we don’t stop walking,” Castiel explained. “Even if all we do is take the road on the short loop.”

“All right,” Dean said. “Tell me what’s got you quiet.”

“Crowley told me to stay away from you at the dinner and dance,” Castiel said.

“Of course he did.”

“He said it was too soon after, and that I should imagine how much it would hurt you for me to complicate things,” Castiel said. “And I couldn’t imagine that.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No. I didn’t tell him about you calling on me. I don’t think he knows. He’s really worried for the foundation.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Dean, how did you happen to be here? That first Sunday.”

“I came home and you were gone,” Dean said. “I don’t know exactly what I did. But your mother showed up. With a pie. I thought I had to tell her you were gone, but she told me to bring the plate back on Sunday, around six.”

“Oh.”

“Cas you broke my heart when you left, but when Inias let me in and I saw you there, you shattered it. I knew then that you thought you had to go. That you had no choice.”

“But you were still angry.”

“I  _am_  still angry. Castiel Jeremiah Bauer, you left me.”

“I did,” Castiel said.

“And I’m still angry.”

“But you’re still here.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you never asked me if I wanted to be left,” Dean said. “And you’ve never sent me away.”

“I don’t want to. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Tell me you can walk away, Cas.”

“I can’t,” Castiel said.

“And I won’t.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” Castiel said, and took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.”

 

“Cas, I don’t blame you,” Dean said, but his grip on Castiel’s shoulder was tight even through the layers and his sheepskin coat. “But that’s the oldest trick in the book. You couldn’t have known better. But let me get my hands on this asshole.”

“Dean, after we tried it he’s on your side,” Castiel said. “He thinks I should sneak around with you until I graduate.”

Dean still scowled. “Just because I agree doesn’t mean he’s not a jerk. You really...it wasn’t the same?”

“No, Dean. It wasn’t bad. It was nice. But no light shone on us.”

Dean stopped in the middle of the road. Castiel turned around to face him.

“And the light shines on us, when we...kiss?” Dean asked.

Castiel smiled and nodded. “It does.”

Dean drew closer. “Every time?”

“Yes.” Castiel tilted his head back.

“This time?” Dean came close enough that Castiel closed his eyes.

The lights on the Milton cottage porch snapped on, and Castiel leapt back.

“A fine night, Brother Castiel,” Rebecca Milton said. “A bit cold to be standing still.”

“A fine night, Sister Rebecca,” Castiel answered. “We were just getting on with our walk.”

“Have a pleasant one.”

They moved on.

“You can’t get away with anything here,” Dean grumbled. “Just wanted one kiss.”

“We haven’t been courting long enough,” Castiel said. “Though properly if you’re kissing, you ought to be marrying.”

“But we can’t  _get_  married.”

Castiel laughed. “Tell my family that. I’ll sit in the corner and watch.”

Dean turned to look at Cas.  _Keep walking._  “What?”

“The piece of paper it’s on or not on isn’t everything that makes a marriage real, Dean.” Castiel waved at a figure emerging from a barn. The figure waved back and kept walking. “I’m not saying that we have to. Just that they will expect it, if we keep on.”

“Wow, no pressure,” Dean laughed. “So that’s something that I should think about.”

“I think it can wait,” Castiel said. “We can’t be together. At least not so long as I’m in school.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “We’re finding a way out of this. We’re taking care of it.”

“I know,” Castiel sighed. “And I hope you do. I really do. But I can’t let you pay for my education, and I can’t let scandal fall on the foundation. Maybe we could sneak around. But what if we get caught? Then everything falls apart.”

“I know.”

Castiel shoved his hands into his pockets. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Dean, that’s why I kissed Aaron. Not because he conned me into it. Not because I fell for a trick. But because the logical part of me knows that what we’re doing is irresponsible and I should stop.”

“Would you have come up with the idea if Aaron hadn’t floated it to you?”

“Honestly I don’t know, Dean. But I’m not stupid. I considered what he said, believed him when he said that it would do him no harm if I kissed him and nothing for me changed, and tried it. Don’t blame him for tricking me. That’s not fair.”

“Why should I care about being fair to him?”

“I mean,” Castiel said, “That it’s not fair to me.”

“But he--”

“But I, Dean. I decided. I kissed him. I invited him up to the apartment.”

“You  _what_.”

“I offered to work out with him at the gym after he propositioned me, because I decided that he meant it when he said that his sexual interest in me wasn’t as important as socializing.”

“He was in your apartment?”

“We needed protein. The drinks at the juice bar on campus are expensive.”

“But your apartment?”

“If I still lived with you I would have invited him there.”

“That’s different.”

“Because you’d be there to watch over me?”

“I,” Dean said, and shut his mouth.

“I need you to watch over me when I’m bound, Dean. Because that’s what I give you. You protect me because I’ll push past what’s safe. But if you need to watch over me when I have my clothes on, how can I be your equal?”

Dean stopped, caught Castiel’s arm. “I don’t want to diminish you.”

Castiel swung around to face him. “Then don’t. I kissed Aaron because I wanted to.”

“And I want to wipe that last kiss away. I wasn’t the last one to kiss you.” And he should be. He should be. Dean pulled Cas in closer, cocked his head.

“Knitting needle.”

Dean stepped back, stared. “Cas.”

Castiel folded his arms across his chest. “Am I tarnished, now?”

“No,” Dean said. “Not if he’d taken advantage of you, and not if you’d chosen. That’s not -- do you think I have a, a virgin thing?”

“Not precisely. I think you have a control thing,” Castiel said. “And I think you don’t trust me - not because I’m untrustworthy, but because if you need to protect me, you don’t have to.”

Dean stared. “I don’t--that’s not--”

Castiel sighed. “Don’t try to answer me now. Just--think about it.”

Dean let his shoulders drop and let out a deep breath. “I--Okay.”

Cas let his arms fall to his sides, and then he motioned down the path. “We should get back. I’m keeping Inias up late.”

 

Lisa wouldn’t let Dean tell her anything until they had gone through the entire asana. Twice. Slowly. They’d finally sat down and Lisa handed over a cup of white tea, too hot to touch, too hot to drink. “All right. What happened?”

“I went to see Cas on Sunday,” Dean said.

“Yes. Did something happen?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Yes.”

“What’s bothering you?”

Dean touched the sides of his cup. The tea was still too hot. “Me and Cassie. Did I treat her right? I mean, did I treat her as an equal?”

Lisa tilted her head and regarded Dean, frowning. “Interesting. I wonder why you ask that. But first, let me answer. I think that there were things about Cassie you chose not to see.”

“Like her ambition?”

“Like her drive to share things she loved with others,” Lisa said. “You like to cosy up in a space with a few people who are special to you. Cassie wanted to touch many people, to show them that they weren’t alone.”

“So I couldn’t make her happy.”

“No, but that’s not your fault. Or hers,” Lisa said. She picked up her tea cup and sipped. “You could have made great friends. I don’t think you could have been her partner even if you didn’t have anxiety around audiences. Or if she didn’t want to shout from the rooftops.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“One, I didn’t really know you well enough. You have a good public face, Dean, and you were wearing it the first five times I talked to you. It was the sixth time when I saw the crack. Do you remember?”

“Yeah.” It had been such a little thing. Cassie had gotten into a chat with a new couple about corsets, about how lacing one could become something more than the logistics of a garment that required teamwork to put on. She’d turned her back and invited them to touch the lacing pattern that he had cinched her into, gradually tightening the waist laces over an hour of wear.

They’d fought about it. She’d called him possessive and jealous and wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of the night. He couldn’t look at the precise crossings of her corset laces without feeling a kick inside his gut.

“She never understood that you needed that feeling of closeness, Dean. That some things were just between you.”

Dean picked up his cup. It was a simple cylinder. No handle. It made better sense than adding handles - if it was too hot for your fingers, it was too hot for your mouth.

He drank, set the cup down. Lisa poured him another. “I tied his ties,” Dean said. “I tied his ties for him.”

Lisa turned her cup in her palms and listened.

“He never wears ties now. Not on Sundays when I see him.”

“Are there things about Castiel you choose not to see, Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “He said that I protect him so I don’t have to trust him.”

“And you’re trying to figure out if that’s true.”

“Yes. I think I trust him. Or I just really want to.”

“Sometimes people show you that you can trust them without you having to risk much, Dean.”

“He told me he kissed someone else. To see if it was the same. He said it wasn’t.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you angry at him for it?”

“No. I told him it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t know better.”

“Oh, dear,” Lisa said. “I bet he loved that.”

“Yeah it was a stupid thing to say wasn’t it.”

“So. He’s responsible. Are you angry at him for it?”

Dean ran a finger around the rim of his teacup. Steam condensed on his palm. “No,” he said. “He wanted to know. Even if he’d come back and said that it was the same, he still had a right to decide for himself.”

“Dean. I think the only way that you can find out if you can trust Castiel is to  _give_  him your trust. Take the chance. And then show him.”

 


	53. Dolce

Dean got up a little earlier than usual, and Valentine’s day saw him in the quiet waiting room of Flawless Body Aesthetics at 7:00 with a small crowd of men quietly talking about their plans for that night.

“I have a benefit to attend in the city,” Dean had said, when asked by the man who brought him a bottle of water. “You guys are busier than a florist’s.”

“People were trying to book us yesterday, if you can believe that.”

“There’s one rule that will always get you through Valentine’s Day and that rule is Be Prepared.”

“Sounds like Scouts.”

Dean opened his water. “It applies in a lot of places, actually.”

  
  


Castiel decided not to shave that morning, because he’d just have to do it again, and went to class looking rumpled, scruffy, and disreputable, but perhaps only in his opinion.

His Foundations of Psychology class went in one ear and out the other, so he kept his personal response journal open and wrote:

> _Do I have a Valentine or not? I have one. But should I? I can’t send him away when he comes. I want to choose him over everything else. He wants me to choose him. But I can’t stop thinking that the price is too high, too selfish._
> 
> _He’s conforming to my family’s rules. He’s entirely proper. They approve of him. I never thought that Mother would approve of anyone but Anna, but she and Michael act like we’ll join hands this summer and we can’t do that._
> 
> _I should be thinking about schemas and reflecting on what I learned as a very small child that shapes my world today. That the good of the many outweighs the good of the one. Or two. I’m acting on that principle but no one in my life thinks that I’m doing the right thing._
> 
> _But it has to be right._
> 
> _I wish I could have a day where I could do what I want._

  
  


Dean ran down to the lake, up the boardwalk trail and back home. He put down a thin mat and did pushups, situps, and side planks until he had to lie down and just breathe.

“Jerk,” Dean’s phone said, and Dean rolled over to pick it up.

**Dean I have an idea but we have no time to talk about it unless you come get me.**

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said.  _What’s your idea?_

**I don’t want you to reject it out of hand. But here’s the first part. We have to keep Cas in town overnight. Can you do it?**

He’d been planning to. Wanting to. He knew Crowley would keep them apart and he didn’t know how he could convince Cas to stay with Crowley up in Dean’s face. He could ask Sam to pass on a message…

_I can try. What’s the rest?_

**That’s got to wait until we’re in the car. I’m about to take off.**

Dean cussed and got up to take a fast shower. He’d shave in town.

  
  


A hired car arrived to fetch Castiel and drive him into the city. Sam still was out of communication and wasn’t answering any of his texts. He sat in the spacious backseat with his suit bag and carryall and listened to Jimi Hendrix, tapping his thighs to the beat of Lover Man. Maybe he should be listening to his concerto or the sonata he would play with Sam. But he wanted rock, or some of the music that he used when he worked out.

He sat back and watched the pale blue sky and wondered if he’d get a minute to talk to Dean, out of Crowley’s sight.

  
  


Dean paid the king’s ransom that airport parking demanded. He waited for Sam at arrivals and he loped down the long hallway toward him, his suit bag over one shoulder and his violin case in the other hand. Dean spied Sam’s neon orange hard-shell suitcase with f-holes painted on it on the carousel and grabbed it.

They raced out of the airport and Dean stepped on it. They only had 90 minutes before Sam needed to be ready.

“Okay spill it.”

“It’s not crazy but it’s crazy,” Sam said. “Charlie said she’d do it, so long as we didn’t want the studio until noon.”

“Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”

“Damn right I am,” Sam said. “You can do it, Dean.”

  
  


Castiel unfolded the bow tie, smoothed the edges down, and looked at the diagram again. “Left over right, under, and up,” he muttered. “Double up the right, drop over, fold…”

“Are you having trouble with that? Let me help you,” Crowley said, and reached for the ends of Castiel’s bow tie.

Castiel grabbed the ends tight in each hand. “I can do it.” He read the diagram and fumbled his way through it, then untied it and did it again.

“It won’t take a minute.”

“I can do it.”

  
  


Dean lathered up and shaved with a fresh razor, patient and exacting, and hissed at the sting of his aftershave.

He usually dreaded dressing for a concert. Not tonight. He wanted the crisp shirt and the silk lapels, the black bow perfectly centered under his chin. Dean knew exactly how he looked dressed up like this, and he wanted every ounce of effect.

He wore the cologne Castiel liked best. He combed his hair into a smooth path and let it dry with the comb lines tracing over his head in the tracks Castiel loved to break up with his fingers. He sat down with the rose boutonniere he’d purchased at the hotel florist and wrote in the card:

_Pretend you’re going home early. Then meet me in the men’s room one floor above reception ball. If you don’t want to, don’t wear the rose onstage._

He’d give it to Sam, who could pass it on.

  
  


Castiel waited in the small room assigned to him and Sam, and he really, really wished he had some Alka-Seltzer. He was so nervous he was glad he hadn’t had anything to eat, and wondered if he would be able to manage the dinner afterward.

The Youth Orchestra was onstage already. He should be too. But he wanted to see Sam first.

“Cas! Oh good. Here.”

Sam burst inside the dressing room and handed Castiel a box with a notecard on top. Inside was a single red rose, cut just below the blossom and wrapped in red ribbon.

He picked up the note and read it, aware that Sam watched him do it. He suspected Sam had read the note.

It was from Dean. Asking him to meet him. To wear the rose if his answer was yes.

“I’m going to be late getting onstage,” Castiel said. “Help me put this flower on.”

  
  


The speeches had started and Castiel still wasn’t on the stage.  _Sam might not have caught up to him_ _,_  Dean thought. He was running late.  _It might not mean that he doesn’t want to, if he’s not wearing it. Sam might have missed him._

But then Castiel walked onto the stage and the flash of red stilled all of his doubt. Sam had found him. Cas was wearing it. His was the only rose boutonniere on the stage, if you didn’t count Crowley’s small white bloom, and Dean didn’t.

Castiel faced the audience, bowed, and sat down.

Dean fought for every glimpse of the rose over Castiel’s heart. He played the sparkling melodies of mozart’s [Piano concerto No 23](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMYjGkgzinU), and got to his feet to bow with the rest of the orchestra. When Sam came out with his violin, their handshake greeting became a hug, and Castiel checked the rose to make sure it wasn’t crushed.

Every minute was agony. Now that he knew Castiel had accepted his proposal, the minutes stretched before him and wandered aimlessly.

Sam and Cas played to each other. The rest of the room had disappeared. They held the room in a gentle grip as they connected, eyes more on each other than on their hands, their smiles contented and easy. They were great.

And Dean wished that he were up there with them. Not to hold them apart. Sammy and Cas clicked together with mutual admiration and affection, with an easy comfort that Dean was part of. He was missing from the stage. The audience wasn’t getting the whole show.

That would be for next year. He’d be up there too.

 


	54. Intimo

The performance had been fine. The dinner was a trial.

He’d been seated at a round table full of strangers who had paid extra for a chance to sit with him. He did his best to talk about music and to try and keep their questions about his life in Heaven minimally answered.

It was hard to concentrate. He knew Dean was sitting at a table behind him. And Castiel was convinced Dean was watching him.

He’d seen him, of course. He stood back while Sam came over to give him a hug, and he always seemed to be in his sight for just a moment during the reception. A waiter had given Castiel a glass of champagne, which he really ought not to have drunk. But as he tipped the flute to his lips, Dean was there. And he looked so amazing. Dean in black tie should probably be illegal.

It was one thing to see him at the commune for Sunday dinner, dressed in his favored t-shirt or thermal Henley under an open plaid shirt and jeans. That was safe, mannerful Dean, respectful of his mother, who always kept in sight of a watchful brother or in the parlor, which had no doors. That Dean was the one Castiel was learning to expect, the one who kept a careful, measured attachment and strictly obeyed the limits of one who came calling, but wasn’t yet permitted to come courting.

Castiel tried to keep his mind on the questions his special patrons asked him. He hung on to the topic at hand through the strength that kept him turning around to see if Dean’s starburst green and gold eyes were on him.

He was certain they were.

He ate what was put before him. A light soup. A fish course. An exquisite, tiny salad. All the portions were small, and they kept coming. Crowley had given him a hundred dollars in cash for expenses and a taxi chit so he could get home on his own. He wondered if he could tip the staff with it. The work they were doing to serve two hundred people amazed him. By the time his creme brulee appeared he wondered if the ticket price adequately covered the cost.

At the end of the meal, his dinner guests were signing checks and giving them to him, thanking him for the delightful opportunity and the inspiring company. Crowley came by in time to retrieve them all, adding thanks and charm of his own.

“Good job, lad. I’ve got someone I want you to dance with. I was told you were better at a waltz.”

“I am.”

“Good. Come with me.”

Crowley had introduced him to a silver haired woman named Gertrude Case, who was full of praise, and just a little bit handsy.

A lot handsy, if one were honest. She was a wonderful dancer, but when he escorted her off the floor he was doing a dance of his own, until he finally caught her hand and murmured, “I’m sorry, Gert. We wait until marriage. I’m committed to God, no matter how pretty you are.”

She’d threatened to propose on the spot, but she laid off, up until she’d written a hefty check and tucked it into his breast pocket.

“She’s a lucky young woman, whoever she is,” she said, and squeezed.

Castiel bowed and wove through the crowd to find Crowley. “I wonder if I should feel dirty.”

“I feel bad for your innocence, Castiel, but I’m not above exploiting it,” Crowley said. “Was it awful? Do you need a shoulder?”

“Is there anyone else you want me to meet? I think it’s time I went home.”

“You’ve done great, champ,” Crowley said. “Congrats on collecting six figures for us. Here, sneak a glass of champagne and head out.”

And so Castiel was set loose with his second serving of champagne. He rather liked the stuff. It was complicated on the tongue, fizzy the way hard cider was. He reckoned it was about as potent. He smiled at a young woman with long dark hair, and she looked so hopeful, he asked her to dance.

Up close, she was beautiful. Her name was Sarah and she’d come with her parents, but what she wanted to talk about was Sam Winchester, and the video they’d made that was still generating hits on YouTube.

Castiel answered her questions, told her that yes, Jess’s battery really had died just then, and that there were probably no plans to film the song for a sequel.

“Oh but you should do it,” she said. “People are just dying to know what the rest of that song sounded like. Did you know that Voodoo Child made number 12 on the iTunes best seller list the week your video came out?”

“I’m glad,” Castiel said. “It’s a great song. I love Jimi Hendrix.”

“I wish you would consider it,” Sarah said. “How can I convince you?”

“How about I introduce you to Sam and you ask him?”

“That would be wonderful.”

*

Castiel hadn’t realized that Sam had brought a date.

Disaster was narrowly averted when Sarah actually seemed more interested in talking to Jess about the making of the video, but Castiel told himself that he was making a tactical retreat when he slipped out of the ballroom and went upstairs to the unused third floor men’s restrooms.

He was washing his hands at the sink when Castiel saw someone reflected in the mirror behind him. He straightened up.

Dean Winchester stood there, offering paper towels for Castiel’s hands.

Up close, Dean was devastating. His hair was combed back with pomade. The jet studs in his shirt glittered. The stark white shirt made the green rings of his eyes glow, the gold a wide ring around dark pupils.

Castiel knew he was staring. Knew that his mouth was open. Knew he should say something.

“Your tie is crooked,” Dean said. “May I?”

Castiel didn’t trust his voice. He nodded.

Dean reached out and instead of straightening it, pulled the tie knot loose.

Castiel couldn’t breathe.

Dean took the ends of Castiel’s tie in his hands and deftly pulled one end through in a half hitch, brushing his little finger over Castiel’s lips. He doubled the short end with an expert twitch of his fingers, and then dropped the long end and had the bowed ends in each hand after sliding the long end loop through with a poking finger, and the whole thing slid perfectly into place in seconds.

He was bound.

Dean stood there with the ends of Castiel’s bow tie in his hands, and he looked Castiel straight in the eye, direct and completely intent. Anyone could walk in and see them, see Castiel unable to look anywhere but at him.

He had to say something.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, and his fingers were there, tracing Castiel’s cheek. “Cas, do you need to call it out?”

“Dean, please don’t stop,” Cas said.

“I have a room upstairs,” Dean said. His fingers slid under Castiel’s chin, and Castiel tipped his head back. “Will you come with me?”

“Yes, Dean. Yes.”

****  
  
  



	55. Sospirando

Dean couldn’t take his hands off Castiel, now that he could touch him. He put his hand on the small of Castiel’s back and the way Cas changed course in response to pressure from Dean’s fingertips to the heel of his hand made him regret that they couldn’t have danced downstairs. Tempted him to see just how precisely Cas could follow his subtle cues and bask in how focused and responsive Cas was.

He stood next to Dean in the elevator, his head turned so he could look at Dean’s face in near-profile. He couldn’t look back. He would kiss Cas if he looked back, but he knew Cas watched him, that Cas inhaled slowly to drag Dean’s cologne up into his memory and keep it.

He guided Castiel out into the hall and kept a slow pace. Anyone who saw them wouldn’t mistake their destination and their goal, but that wasn’t why Dean strolled down the printed hallway carpet. He was holding these moments closely too.

He opened the door to his suite and let it click behind him. Cas turned in the light that seeped from the bathroom to look at him, and Dean felt the vigilant part of him start evaluating Castiel’s expression and body. Cas was holding back. Still unsure of what Dean wanted.

“I know that you managed to get your hands on two glasses of champagne,” Dean said. “Was that all?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“How do you feel?”

“Dean please,” Castiel said. “I can’t stand it. I need you. I miss you so much. Please.”

“I miss you. I want you—Cas,” Dean said, and slid his hands over Castiel’s shoulders. “I will do exactly what you want me to do. Do you understand?”

Cas blinked. He searched Dean’s face, his lips parted in surprise.

“What are the limits?” Castiel asks.

“I don’t want to hurt you or injure you,” Dean said. “But I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Castiel stared at him and murmured, “You’ll do what I want?”

“Yes.”

“Dean, please.”

This was the first part of what Cas wanted. “Please what?”

“Please kiss me,” Castiel said.

Dean cradled Castiel’s face in his hands and breathed over his lips.

“I miss you,” Dean said. “Everything we talk about on Sundays isn’t half the things I find myself walking into the music room to tell you.”

His kiss was slow and deep. He hadn’t kissed Castiel in thirty nine days. And here he was, under Dean’s hands, chin up, his head tilted, fingers dug into Dean’s shoulders like he never wanted to let go. Dean fought the urge to pick him up and take over.

He knew how to ask Cas to tell him what to do. “Please what else?”

“Please undress me,” Castiel said.

Dean eased the jacket off Castiel’s shoulders, untied his tie, unfastened the studs of Castiel’s shirt. His clothes disappeared until he was naked in front of a fully dressed Dean, who ran his fingers over Castiel’s shoulders, over his arms.

“You’re bigger,” Dean said.

“I started going to the gym,” Castiel said.

“You got more beautiful.”

“So did you. Dean, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please undress.”

*

Dean stood in the light that spilled through the suite’s glass wall and undressed. Castiel watched him pull his bowtie loose and peel out of his dinner jacket, shirt and trousers. He watched Castiel lick his lips when Dean pushed his trousers and underwear down and his cock was hard enough to bob eagerly.

“Please pin me.” Castiel laced his fingers with Dean’s and put his hands near either side of his head, and Dean pinned them down with his weight. Cas writhed under his weight, and Dean rocked to his rolling hips and fuck, he was even bigger than before, his shoulders and chest deeper. Dean couldn’t resist catching first one nipple and then the other with lips and tongue, making them shrink and peak hard against his teeth.

“I wish you had rope.”

Dean lifted his head and smiled at Cas. The lights of the city outside shone in his eyes, dark and wide in the dim room.

“About that,” Dean said.

“You brought rope with you?”

“Knew I was gonna see you,” Dean said. “Dreamed that I would. I hoped that you’d come up here with me.”

“Dean, please.”

Dean would never get tired of Castiel saying that. “Please what?”

“Please tie my hands.”

He had the rope out and around Castiel’s wrists in a minute. Castiel sighed and pulled on the line, face peaceful. Cas looked at Dean and smiled, so soft and glad that Dean couldn’t help his fingers tracing over Castiel’s face and lips, open and soft.

“Cas,” he murmured. “Cas, please.”

“Please what?”

“I want you, just like this,” Dean said. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Dean, yes.”

*

But first there were kisses all over the gorgeous contours of his body. Dean licked every inch of Castiel’s abdomen, nipped him in all the places that made him tense and twist. Dean got so lost in the feel of Castiel’s cock against his tongue and lips, the slide of his foreskin under his tongue, and the gentle salt-and-flesh taste of Castiel’s arousal that Cas clamped his thighs together and tried to twist away to keep from coming. Cas hauled on the rope tied around his wrists and whimpered.

“Hush,” Dean whispered, and gently kissed his temples. “We can do it again, Cas. We’ve got all night.”

“I want more,” he said, and Dean kissed that away. They had all night. “Dean, please. I’m ready.”

Dean got up on his knees again, settling down between Castiel’s thighs. Cas lifted his head at the scrape of a jar opening, sighed as Dean slid lube-coated fingers over his cock.

“Please, Dean.”

“I’ve got you, Cas.” Dean crawled back up Castiel’s body and kissed him, bracing his weight on one elbow and his right hand behind him, fingers working. It would have to do. He’d go slow, and he relaxed.

“You won’t last, Cas,” Dean said. “Don’t worry.”

Dean straddled Castiel’s hips, one hand under him, the other on Castiel’s chest.

“Slow,” Dean said, and closed his eyes.

Castiel was quiet as Dean guided him, pressed, but nothing could stop his gasp as he bumped up against Dean’s body and went in. Dean whined and held still, willing himself to relax.

“Oof,” Dean said, and his laugh made Castiel gasp and push, draw back as Dean hissed. Castiel shuddered with the need to move, and held still. His heart pounded under Dean’s hand. Dean opened his eyes, and Castiel watched him with awe and a little worry that Dean wanted to kiss away.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Need to go slow,” Dean said. “I—it’s been a long time.”

“I don’t want to hurt you oh Dean  _oh ohhh_ ,” Castiel’s eyes went wide as Dean pushed himself down, too far, can’t stop. He hissed at the stretch, drew back just a bit, enough that he could relax and slip down again, more, more.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered, and both hands landed on the cage of Castiel’s ribs. “Stay still, just a minute, just let me.”

“Are you all right?”

“Went too fast,” Dean admitted.

“Should we stop?”

“No,” Dean said. “I want this.”

He shifted and winced, did it again. Slowly, but Castiel was biting his lip. This was so right. Dean stayed still and let the hurt subside and melt into feeling full, stretched open. Castiel’s pulse beat inside him, and Dean’s head fell back as he groaned.

It felt so right.

Dean rocked his hips and got his knees under him and moved.

“There,” he sighed. “Oh yes.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “It’s so—”

“Oh fuck, yes.” Faster now, his hips sliding forward, then back, eyes shut, lips open. “Oh, good.”

Nothing felt like this—Castiel buried deep inside him and Dean’s rolling hips forward and back, flex, squeeze, and give way against Castiel’s cock, stiff and perfect— Dean leaned back and lifted himself up, slid back down fast and just right, exactly right.

“Move with me,” Dean said, and Castiel spread his heels apart, caught Dean’s rhythm, and Dean groaned, bucking backwards in sharp little thrusts. “That’s it, Oh Cas, perfect. Hard now. Hard, fast—”

Castiel shuddered so hard it threw his head back. He bucked his hips up to meet Dean’s and the bed shook. It rocked. And Castiel couldn’t hold on any more. He jerked up hard and came, helpless to do anything but exactly what his body demanded, giving up his orgasm in hard clenching bursts.

“Dean, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, please come.”

“Oh fuck, Cas,” Dean said, and it came out broken. Only one hand supported his weight on Castiel’s chest; the other stroked his cock. “Say it again.”

“Dean, please come,” Castiel repeated, and Dean went blind at the coarsest word Cas had ever said in his hearing. He leaned forward and shuddered, Castiel’s name on his lips until he couldn’t make words and came, exactly as Cas asked.

He slumped over Castiel’s body, dizzy and weak. He settled his weight and breathed. Castiel’s voice fuzzed over him, wrapped him up and held him as Cas murmured that he was wonderful, perfect, that he was amazing and that everything he wanted was great.

Dean finally gathered the strength to lift his head. He kissed Castiel’s ear, shifted, and made a disappointed grunt as he pulled their bodies apart.

Then he saw Castiel’s purpling hands.

“Cas,” he said. “I need to untie you.”

Friction had rubbed his wrists raw, and he hissed as Dean untied him.

“Oh Cas. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to stop.”

“It’s your hands, Cas. Your  _hands_ _._  Come on, I’ve got to look at this in the light.”

Dean dragged Castiel into the all-marble bathroom and snapped on the light. Castiel squinted against the brightness, but Dean turned them this way and that. They must have hurt, the blood able to move again, but Castiel wasn’t bleeding. At least there was no blood.

“Just the skin’s broken,” he says. But he washed the wounds, salved them with antibacterial cream, and wound them in gauze.

“Just to sleep in,” Dean said. “But never do that again, Cas. Never. If you think something’s wrong, call it out.”

“I didn’t want to stop,” Castiel said again. “What if—”

Dean kissed him to stop his words, but they hung in the air.

“Shower,” Dean said. “And then we’re gonna sleep.”

*

Dean had to wash him to keep his bandages dry, then dried him, and then they got under the covers of the great big bed and curled together.

But Castiel stayed tense and wakeful, didn’t melt into the pillows and Dean’s side, and Dean rolled over to hold him.

“Cas, hey,” Dean said, and stroked his back. “You can’t sleep?”

“I can’t.”

“Come here,” Dean said, and Cas just squeezed him tight.

“What’s the matter?”

“Morning will come.”

“It will, Cas,” Dean said.

“I don’t want it to.”

“Let’s just see what it brings,” Dean said. “Now close your eyes. Breathe slow.”

Dean traced a circle on Castiel’s back, and Castiel breathed to it.

“Just listen.” Dean reached over him, and in his hand, his phone glowed. Naomi hadn’t updated him on where they were in the book.

Maybe it didn’t matter. “ _The stars were coming out behind him in a pale sky barred with black when the hobbit crept through the enchanted door and stole into the Mountain._ ”

Castiel hugged him close and sagged into the mattress. Dean read until Castiel was boneless and slow-breathing, his arm heavy over Dean’s ribs.

*

There was music.

Castiel opened his eyes to a room filled with morning light and blue skies, and the rich, deep sound of a cello strung with gut playing the prelude to [Bach’s Cello Suite no. 1.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGQLXRTl3Z0)

He rolled over and sat up, the sheets puddling into his lap, and the sight before him snapped his eyes open.

Dean sat on the suite’s piano bench and played his wildly expensive 19th century antique cello. His fingering was utterly confident, his eyes drifted nearly closed, his bowing deft and sure.

He sat on the chair’s edge, the neck over his left shoulder, the nose against his chest, his feet planted on the carpet - his bare, high-arched feet.

Dean was completely naked, playing Castiel’s favorite.

Dean opened his eyes, smiled at Cas, and nodded toward the night table on Cas’s side of the bed. Cas looked, and found a cup of coffee fixed exactly how he liked it. He sipped and listened to the beautiful music, stared at Dean, and vowed to remember it for the rest of his life. He sat in silence until Dean finished the Gigue, and still didn’t find words.

“I got accepted into the strings program at Lakeside for next year,” Dean said. “They’re sticking on the first year performance requirement, so I have to start over from the beginning.”

“Congratulations,” Castiel said. He barely managed to get the words out. Dean had applied, and passed his audition. He'd had to go on a brightly lit stage, the audience darkened, and play to people who were listening at their most critical. What it would have taken to do that was nothing short of amazing. "I'm very proud of you."

“Thank you,” Dean said. “I ordered breakfast from room service. It should be here—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Now,” Dean said.


	56. Encore

Dean shrugged into a robe, answered the door, and let the uniformed waiter push the cart inside the suite. Castiel wasn’t dressed, but the frosted glass swirls in the French doors that separated the bedroom from the rest of the suite hid him a bit. And the waiter didn’t look in his direction. He took the cash Dean handed him with a nod of thanks and went out.

Dean opened the door and came in. “There’s another robe for you,” he said. “Come and have breakfast.”

Breakfast was still warm, resting on heated plates. Dean had ordered for them, and Castiel had the eggs scrambled around sausage, tomato, mushrooms and basil leaves, with a side of hollandaise sauce and thin slices of rye toast. There was a teapot on the table and a coffee urn, but Dean poured him tea.

“The coffee’s not up to your standards,” he said.

“How did you get the cup of coffee I drank in bed?”

“I made it.”

“You really did plan this.”

“I did,” Dean said, and cut into his French toast. “Are you angry?”

“Dean, you know that I wouldn’t be able to resist,” Castiel said.

“And that you think that you should,” Dean said. “I haven’t been too good at accepting that.”

“I … haven’t sent you away, Dean. I should.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Dean said. “You went home early, like the retiring, shy student should. I’ll get you home in time for supper tonight.”

“Don’t you have to check out?”

“Sure, at 11. It’s 8.”

“Then you have something else planned?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “Sam wants us to go to Sunshine Studios and record another video with his new complicated.”

“The first one went viral.”

“The second one will too.”

“But the Foundation will know that we were together,” Castiel said. “And we can’t let them find out.”

“Cas, you just did a sonata with Sam. The foundation doesn’t have a problem with you and him performing together, otherwise you wouldn’t have been up there last night with him.”

“But Crowley said—”

“Never mind that. He can’t stop you from being friends with Sam. That’s the loophole we slip through. And besides. You’ll be helping Sam out.”

“How?”

“He’s really into this girl Jess,” Dean said. “He’s never really…he’s a friends with benefits, don’t get too serious kind of guy. He wants to do things for her. I’ve never seen that.”

“So doing the video would help their relationship.”

“Cas. It’ll be okay. The Foundation will have to accept that we work together musically.”

“Is this part of the plan, Dean? The plan you and Sam have?”

“It…might be,” Dean said. “But the plan doesn’t hinge on it. You can say no.”

“And if I say yes?”

“It’ll be okay,” Dean said. “We can do this.”

“I should say no,” Castiel said. “But I want to do it.”

****  
  


Sam called Dean as they were getting out of the shower.

“You’re on speaker,” Dean said, and pored over Castiel’s wrists. “They’re not as bad as I thought they’d be,” he murmured. “But don’t do this again.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“Cas hurt himself last night.”

“Cas, are you all right?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Castiel said. “Dean’s making a fuss.”

“I’ll put you in wrist braces. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Hey, I can hear you,” Sam said, “and we are not having this conversation. I think we should wear our tuxes. Ties undone. Have you shaved?”

“Was about to.”

“Don’t do it. I was just thinking. I noticed when you guys left, and I took Jess home not long after. We can make it look like we ran off to do this at midnight or something, cover our tracks a bit.”

“How’s my car?”

“Your car is fine, Dean.” Castiel could almost hear his eyes rolling. “Look rumpled.”

Sam hung up. Dean smiled at Cas.

“You want to finish what we started? Sam said look rumpled.”

“Well, we should take Sam’s advice, of course.”

****  
  


“I’m not sure we got it,” Castiel said, after their first run through. “It felt too tight.”

“I agree,” Dean said. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, scrubbed it back, and made it even more crazed.

“Maybe we should try something else,” Sam said.

“You can play something else if you want to, but I think you guys are just being picky artists,” Jess said.

“Well, if you’re happy with it,” Sam said. “We’re doing this for you.”

“No,” Castiel said. “One more time, come in closer. Dean, is it okay if Jess comes in with a camera?”

“It’s fine,” Dean says. “Being filmed doesn’t bother me.”

“How big of an audience can you handle, Dean? When does it start getting hard to focus?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know.”

“There was about two hundred at the Watch,” Castiel said. “And you played fine.”

“They couldn’t really see me.”

“What about four hundred?” Charlie asked.

“That’s about how many were in the audience last night,” Sam said.

“Hm.”

“You said you wished you were up there,” Sam said.

“Yeah but that wasn’t about the audience,” Dean said.

“It’s never really about the audience though,” Castiel said. “I don’t play for the four hundred. I play for—” he glanced at the camera that pointed directly at him. “I play for a few.”

I play for you. It hung in the air and everybody heard it.

****  
  


Dean gave his bow a sympathetic wince. He’d snapped more than a few hairs. But it had been worth it.

“Okay, that was good.”

Castiel had been right. They sat closer together, sacrificing the mixability of the individual tracks, and gained that close, easy connection that had the music leaping between them.

“That was much better,” Castiel agreed. “Did we look all right, Jess?”

“You looked great,” Jess said. “I’ve got a ton of footage, so it’ll take me longer to edit. So are we going to eat something before you have to go to the airport?”

“Drive me to the airport, and we can,” Sam said.

****  
  


Castiel didn’t talk much on the drive to Heaven. Dean had tried chatting about the recording session, but Castiel answered vaguely and stared down the road ahead.

“Cas,” Dean said.

“Hm?”

“Just listen, okay?” Dean shoulder-checked and changed lanes, turned right into the parking lot of a roadside diner, and put Baby into park. “You don’t have to feel guilty about what we did.”

“Dean.”

“No, shh. Listen.”

He took Castiel’s hand and tugged him in closer. “You don’t have to feel guilty, Cas. What we have, it’s big. It’s bigger than you and me put together. It’s the most important thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Castiel studied him and didn’t answer.

“You can’t tell me that it would be like this if it wasn’t…perfect,” Dean said. “I’m taking you home to Heaven. I’ll see you for Sunday dinner. We will go for a walk. And Sammy and me, we’re going to take care of it.”

Dean slipped his fingers under the cuff of Castiel’s red henley shirt and caressed his wrist. Castiel stirred, but didn’t take his hand away.

“If you’re right—”

“I’m right.”

“We could have waited.”

“We could have. But there was nothing wrong in what we did, Cas. I’d do it again.”

“We could have been caught.”

“We weren’t. The light’s on our side, Cas.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t believe.”

“I believe in you, Cas,” Dean said. “That’s all I need. Should I come in and get a scolding from your mother?”

“It would make her feel better,” Castiel said.

“Then let’s go. Face the music.”

Castiel stayed quiet for the rest of the trip, but he took Dean’s hand back the moment Baby was in drive and back on the road.

****  
  


Naomi seemed unruffled at Castiel’s escort home, but Michael had plenty to stare about. The big man steered Dean outside the moment Castiel had removed his boots and went into the kitchen.

When Dean turned around, he was faced with a frowning Michael. “Do you trifle with my brother, Dean Michael?”

“Michael Joseph, I do not,” Dean said.

“Did you lie to him?”

“No. Stop that,” Dean grumbled. “Yes. We were together last night. That’s probably not in the courtship handbook—”

“Don’t joke.”

“Sorry. Castiel once said to me that marriage wasn’t absolutely required—”

“And you took advantage.”

“I did not.”

“Then win him back, Dean Michael. Don’t seduce him. Don’t make him lie and hide. Don’t tempt him. When I go in there and ask, will he tell me that he sought you out?”

“I told him where to find me. He said yes.”

“I’ll speak to him later.”

“Why don’t we go talk to him now,” Dean said.

“Not how we do things,” Michael said. “And you should have known better. Castiel explained our ways. Go, Dean Michael Winchester. And don’t come back unless you mean to accept them.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dean said. He twitched the shoulders of his jacket back into place and walked back to the car.

Michael stood on the porch and watched until Dean was out of sight.

****  
  



	57. Scordatura

That Sunday for dinner, Dean arrived freshly shaven, dressed in a deep navy dress shirt and a gray-blue tie, smelling of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t touch Castiel when he said hello, and greeted him only after he’d spoken to Mother and Michael. Castiel prepared potatoes roasted in duck fat to go along with spicy sausage and greens. Dean ate everything plus another helping of potatoes. He praised Castiel’s simple dinner--to his mother, not to him.

After dinner, Dean helped Castiel with the dishes. He didn’t bump Cas with his shoulder or his hip. Dean didn’t put a hand on the small of Castiel’s back to signal that he was walking just behind him to put away silverware or pots.

The parlor only had one visiting chair across from the sofa where mother and Michael sat, and Dean sat in it without so much as an apologetic glance in Castiel’s direction, and asked after Inias.

“Inias is at the calving,” Naomi said. “He’s gone in Castiel’s place. He should be back soon.”

Castiel sat in the corner with his wheel and drew from the batt, joining fiber into a long line that he arranged carefully in his lap. He put his foot down on the treadle and drew the wool out fine, spinning worsted for a smooth, soft thread. It should have been meditative. Would have been, if he’d been alone or if the talk wasn’t designed to set his ears on fire.

“Castiel can deliver calves?” Dean asked.

“And lambs. Castiel is one of the best at the calving,” Michael said. “He’s calming and level-headed. If there’s trouble, someone will come to fetch him.”

“Castiel is sitting right here, spinning,” Castiel grumbled.

Naomi and Michael paid him no mind. “We’ll have a short break from newborns, when we’ll have the rush of seed orders. Then the lambing.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Dean said. “I didn’t know how much.”

“Castiel is a hard worker,” Michael said. “The time at school is difficult too, I imagine, but Castiel has been a tireless help on the weekends.”

“Castiel can hear every word you say,” Castiel said.

“Don’t be sulky, Castiel Jeremiah,” Mother scolded. “It’s unbecoming. I hear Inias coming in through the shed. Go and heat his supper.”

Castiel got up with a growl and clattered around the kitchen. He could hear the murmurs of Dean talking to Mother and Michael, probably about him, probably about his suitability as a husband.

Now he understood why Anna didn’t want him talking to her about Inias. And how it might have felt for her to be in exactly this position with him, having to overhear her parents telling him what a good wife she would make, all of her good qualities. The difference was that instead of praising his ability to keep a tidy house and sew a fine seam, the selling points were helping cows and ewes give birth and his industry. If Anna didn’t want the green cottage so much, he’d move into it himself.

He had the apartment he still refused to call home. It was a shelter, but it wasn’t his refuge.

Did he want it to be?

“Castiel,” Inias shut the door behind him, and sat down at his chair next to the deep freeze.

“Inias. No calves tonight?”

“None. As expected.” Inias peered at Castiel. “You look angry, Brother.”

Castiel brought the skillet over to Inias’s plate. “Michael moved the fourth chair out of the parlor.”

Inias winced. “At least they didn’t banish you.”

Castiel took the seat across from Inias, and put a testing hand under the tea cozy. He poured Inias a cup of still steaming tea, and set the pot down. “Actually, they did. To heat supper for you.”

“I’ll eat fast,” Inias promised. “Or will they forbid you a walk with Dean?”

“They had better not.”

“They only want what’s best for you, Castiel.”

“And they know that without asking.”

Inias’ eyebrows shot up. “After you didn’t come home until Saturday, and he drove you here, I don’t think they need to ask. Do you?”

“That’s not the point, Inias.”

“Okay,” Inias said affably. “You let me know what the point is.”

Castiel got up from the table and found something to clean.

****  
  
  


They did allow Castiel to walk with Dean, so long as Inias followed. He trailed along behind them, humming brief passages of dancing songs to let them know if he was within their hearing.

“You don’t seem very happy today, Cas,” Dean said over the crunch of new-fallen snow under their boots.

“I am unhappy.”

“Anything I can do?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Is it classes?”

Castiel stopped. “Are you kidding me?”

“We’re supposed to keep walking,” Dean said.

“I know what we are supposed to do, Dean.” Castiel stepped into his space, boot treads digging into the soft layer of snow above the road’s hard-packed layers. “We may speak to each other unheard, but not unseen. We may be unseen, but within hearing. Inias can see us. We’re within the bounds.”

“Cas.”

“You’re acting like we haven’t completely broken away from courting. You’re acting like nothing happened, when we know better.”

“Michael told me not to come back until I would follow your ways,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “He means to see us married.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“We can’t.”

“Just a little more time, Cas.” Dean lifted a mittened hand, but took it away before he touched Castiel’s face.

“You keep your hands from me?”

“You’re with your family.”

“Yes,” Castiel turned his head and studied the road. “Very proper.”

“Coming to see you on Sunday means a lot to me, Cas.”

“What does it mean to you, Dean?”

“I--kinda like it.” Dean looked down. At Castiel’s hands--no, his wrists. “I needed to, when you left. I couldn’t let you go, and I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry that I sit down with your family on Sunday and they let me come to see you. It’s old fashioned. But I like it.”

“And then there was Friday.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No. But it makes this feel like a farce.”

“Do you feel like I…I don’t know. Took advantage? Was it a mistake?”

“If so, we both made it,” Castiel sighed.

“It’s no good if it hurt you, Cas.”

“Everything hurts, Dean.” Castiel shifted his weight away from Dean and turned back towards home. “This hurts, too.”

Dean caught up in two strides. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t either.”

“I know what I want,” Dean said. “I want you.”

“And you’ll horse trade to Michael for me,” Castiel said. “When you decide to ask him for permission to speak with me alone, you only get ten minutes. You may take my hand when you tell me your thoughts and feelings on our future.”

“Cas.”

“It’s customary to get down on one knee - on the left knee. Getting down on the right is a symbol of worship.”

“Cas.”

“And then you ask. And then I get to tell you yes, or no. Even if you have my family’s encouragement. I get to consent. Which you should know, seeing as you asked me for every tiny advance you made to me in your bed. My yes matters.”

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders up high. “Are you saying you don’t want me?”

“Don’t be foolish, Dean Michael Winchester. What I don’t want is you running around me to get what you want.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “Do you want me to go away?”

“I don’t,” Castiel said. “But I need a clear heart, Dean. Will you give me some time?”

“You need to talk to me, Cas. There are stones.”

Castiel glanced at Dean, eyes narrow. “I know,” Castiel said. “I don’t know how to move them. You’re confusing me.”

“I’m confusing you?” Dean sounded incredulous.

“You. Everyone, Dean. My family, your family, my friends. None of you understand that there’s something bigger than us at stake.”

“I know what’s at stake, Cas.”

“You’re arguing, not listening.”

“Sorry.”

“Maybe you’re right and you can fix this, but it isn’t fixed right now,” Castiel said. “It’s not fixed, and no one seems to care.”

“You feel alone.”

He hadn’t expected Dean to put his finger on it. He was alone. Couldn’t belong to Dean, his family now a beloved sweater that was too small, alone in a beige and brown anonymous apartment that would never be his home.

“I do,” Castiel said. “And I feel pushed around. Yes. I chose to wear the rose. I chose to meet you. I chose to go upstairs with you. Because it could have been the last time, Dean. And then here you are, nodding along while Mother and Michael discuss why I’d make you a good spouse.”

“I know that’s what they’re doing.”

“You come here, and you sit down to dinner and you ask questions about farming and I sit in the corner and spin while you all talk about me. And then we go on this supervised walk, as if I didn’t have bruises from your rope around my wrists.”

“And you want me to leave you alone. Not come to see you next Sunday.”

“I don’t know. I want to see you. But I need to think.”

“Can we continue with the plan?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “It’s your problem too, you’re not just solving it for me.”

“It is my problem too. And I’m sorry, Cas. I didn’t take my place on the foundation seriously. I didn’t think there would be a problem with you living with me, and then--”

“And then.”

Dean stopped them, putting his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “This is my mess, Cas. I made it. I want to fix it.”

“With your plan.”

“Yeah. And if that doesn’t work we’ll try something else.”

“Why don’t you need me to help fix it?”

“Because I was the one that screwed up. I was wrong. And you taught me. You don’t apologize and expect things to be better. I have to fix this.”

“Sam’s helping you.”

“Sam fucked up too. We both assumed no one would care. We were wrong.”

Dean’s Impala was parked in the drive behind the family truck. They stopped just by the gleaming left flank, and Dean fished out his keys.

“Will I see you next Sunday?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Can we still talk?”

“Yes.”

 


	58. Courante

Castiel’s phone didn’t often ring. Inias called him to let him know when he was 15 minutes out, Sam and Aaron sent him texts.

So when his phone sang out the simple chirp for a text message during his lunch break, he’d assumed it was one of them.

But it was Dean.  **hi, Castiel. do you mind if I text you?**

 _Is something wrong?_  Castiel sent.

**I thought about what you said. I don’t talk to you enough.**

_So you are just asking if it’s all right if you text me?_

**Yes. You talk to Sam this way. I thought it would be all right, you don’t have to answer me right away, less pressure, maybe?**

_Sam and I talk like this, yes. Though not as much as before. Mostly I just tell him I’m fine._

**Are you fine?**

_I’m at the apartment. Grilled cheese and Tomato soup. I’ve got Piano Basics in 40 minutes. I have a routine, and I’m doing it._

**So you’re Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Exhausted?**

That made Castiel laugh. _What you said._

**Me too.**

_How are you keeping yourself?_

**I think you’d laugh if I told you. But mostly, practicing my cello. And reading Swedish crime novels. Sam left a couple behind. And I’ve been running, I’d been slacking off for a bit there.**

_Jo and Kevin and I are dominating our Chamber group. I’ve started a personal piano project that will take me a while to complete._

**What’s that?**

_The Thirty Two._

**Seriously?**

_Yes. Is that surprising?_

No, no. It’s very you. Are you going to record?

_It’s easy with the digital._

**It’s not the same, Cas. Anything I can do to help?**

_I’m not sure yet, but if I think of something?_

**Anything. What else are you doing today?**

_Listening to various performer’s interpretations of Sonata no. 1. I listened to Alfred Brendel yesterday. I’m biased toward his style, I think._

**Have you heard of classical-music-online.net?**

_No._

**Go. I think you’ll like it.**

*****

Dean was right. Castiel did like this site. He was nearly late for his workout because he got caught up in the precision of Richter’s performance of the first Sonata, and had to jog down the cleared paths to the gym to make it in time.

“I wondered if you were going to make it,” Aaron said.

“Got distracted by my project,” Castiel said. “Dean gave me a link to an amazing music site, and I got caught up in it.”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean Spotify.”

“No, it’s a classical music archive.”

“Oh, for your 32 thing,” Aaron said. “How long will that take, anyway?”

“I’ll still be working at it when I graduate,” Castiel said.

Aaron whistled. “That’s ambitious.”

“Lots of pianists have done the 32 sonatas,” Castiel said. “Are you ready to work on legs again?”

“My weekend holiday is done, I see. Speaking of. How was your concert thing? Did you see Dean?”

Castiel busied himself with putting his clothes away in a locker. “Yes. I saw him.”

Aaron followed Castiel out to the exercise bikes and took the ride to Castiel’s right. “And did you talk to him?”

“Briefly.”

“Castiel, you are not giving me the goods, here. Did he do something romantic or something sexy?”

“Are you going to keep on me until I answer?”

“Definitely.”

Castiel sighed and pushed up one sleeve. Aaron gave him a look that was equal parts shock and delight.

“Now that,” he declared, “that looks like a good time.”

Castiel programmed in a hilly route and got to pedaling.

*****

Aaron could be infuriatingly persistent, but his competitive nature meant he was fighting to make the hill climbs on their programmed exercise bikes and the effort kept him silent through most of their workout.

“That was revenge, wasn’t it,” Aaron asked, when he finally dragged himself to the shower.

“Just harder cardio,” he said.

“That was evil. But you still haven’t told me.” Aaron waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Did you get back together?”

“No,” Castiel said.

“Are you sneaking around?”

“No.”

“Cas,” Aaron asked after a long pause. “Was it goodbye?”

Castiel put his face in the shower spray and opened his eyes. They stung.

“It might have been.”

“You can’t just leave it like this, Cas,” Aaron said. “Come on, I know a nice little place we can get something hot to drink, and you can tell me all about it.”

*****

Aaron drove a tiny little car. Compared to the truck Castiel grew up with and Dean’s Impala. It was red and boxy, had only two doors, and Castiel felt bad for anyone who had to sit in the tiny back seat. Castiel had to let Aaron adjust the seat so his knees weren’t jammed up against the dashboard.

“Mini. That name makes sense.”

“I love my car, don’t you talk bad about my baby,” Aaron said, and Castiel laughed. “What’s funny?”

“Dean calls his car his baby too. I wonder if it’s just a thing car owners do.”

They drove out of the campus and towards the neighborhood where Dean bought his spices, and Castiel wasn’t surprised when Aaron looked for a place to park near the shop. He fit into a space that Castiel would have never considered pointing to Dean and they jogged across the street to a place called Beaver Island Cafe.

“Wait,” Castiel said. “That’s the brand of coffee Dean bought. Aaron, this is the coffee I like.”

“Good news,” Aaron said. “They get excellent kosher pastries, I hope you’re prepared.”

“Any Rugalach?”

“You can get it,” Aaron opened the door and they stepped inside.

The music was — Castiel looked up at the walls for speakers, but the sound was in front of him, off to the left. Live sound. And he knew it.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“Hm?”

“The cello,” he said. “That’s Dean playing.”

“You can tell without seeing him?”

“I’ve heard him play this. It’s Cello suite no. 3, Bach. He knows all six.”

“Do we need to go?” Aaron whispered.

“No, it’s okay. He’s nearly finished.”

“Okay,” Aaron said, and stepped up to order herbal tea and cookies - “and five bucks on the cellist’s tab,” he said, and paid by card.

Castiel slipped past the order counter to peer inside the second room of the cafe.

Dean was seated on a raised platform, playing his second-best, most used cello. He had his eyes closed, and when he opened them he kept his eyes on his strings. Everyone in this room either watched him play or worked quietly. One of the track lights in the ceiling was turned toward the little platform, mimicking a stage. A little placard announced “Bach Cello suites 3 and 4, performed by Dean Winchester.”

Dean played before an audience. It was maybe 20 people, but it was still an audience.

Aaron stood next to him, handing over a ceramic mug full of tea. “That’s your boyfriend. Are you serious. He’s—”

“Yes.”

 _“So hot_ _,”_  Aaron whispered. “Seriously, do you two have to hoard the sexy like that?”

Dean bowed through the last leaping notes of the Gigue, the light melody taking on more gravity in the final moments, and Dean lifted the bow to applause.

He opened his eyes, smiled, and froze when he saw Castiel.

Cas thought,  _I’m the last person he expected to see._  He still had the fourth suite to play. Maybe he’d thrown him off stride. Maybe he should have left as soon as he recognized Dean’s style. Maybe…

“Cas,” Dean said, and smiled right over the heads of the audience, all of it straight on him. He put his cello away and walked over to them. “What are you doing here?”

“Aaron knew a place that had good coffee.”

“You’re not drinking coffee this late?”

“It’s herbal tea,” Castiel said. “And this is my friend Aaron.”

Dean’s eyebrows went up, and he looked Aaron over.

Castiel went on. “He’s studying to be an architect. Aaron, this is—my dearest friend, Dean Winchester.”

“Hi,” Aaron said. “Your boyfriend is kinda my personal trainer. I pay him in beverages, and he makes me ride bikes until I collapse.”

“Hi,” Dean said. “It’s nice to meet you. I was just going to get a water, but there’s—”

A blonde woman brushed past them with a disappointed look.

“—A table that just opened up right there, if you grab it.”

*****

“Castiel, you can’t see the way you look at him. But I can. You two are not done,” Aaron whispered as Dean re-took the stage and checked his cello’s tune. Conversations hushed as attention went back to the little platform, and Dean held his bow just over the strings, waiting.

The first note rumbled low, rising immediately to the first theme of the prelude. Dean kept his eyes closed and played, feeling his way through the music. Castiel watched. Dean had come far. Was this the first time he’d performed like this? Alone? Cas wished he’d been there.

Aaron wrote on a notepad, slid it over.  _This is really neat,_  the note read.  _He’s good._

Castiel took his pen and wrote,  _He is very good._

Castiel settled back, knowing that the lively Courante movement would be soon. The moment before it started, Dean opened his eyes and looked right at him, flashing a smile that said,  _this is for you._

Any time Dean opened his eyes for the rest of the performance, it was to look at Castiel, who looked back.

Dean settled up at the till, using the tips customers had paid for him to buy a bag of coffee beans for him and one for Castiel. He had that one ground, figuring (correctly) that Castiel didn’t have a coffee grinder.

“Is this what you thought I would laugh about if I knew?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked down and smiled. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t have.”

“I think it’s wonderful,” Castiel said. “You just gave a full concert performance, Dean.”

“Yeah, you did great,” Aaron said. “I don’t know much about baroque music—”

“You knew enough to know it was baroque,” Dean said. “That’s more than most.”

“Well,” Aaron said. “Castiel told me it was Bach, so I kinda cheated.”

“That’s all for tonight, everyone,” the man at the counter called out. “Meet us back here at 7am.”

“I guess we better go,” Dean said. “Get Cas home safely, okay?”

“I will,” Aaron said, and they parted ways just outside the door.

**Good morning. Do you have time to talk?**

_I’m eating breakfast._

**So am I. oatmeal.**

_Protein powder, blueberries, lime, spinach, half a banana. Avocado and tomatoes on toast._

**I’m not sure I approve.**

_The protein powder, or Aaron?_

**The protein powder. Aaron’s fine. Nice dude. But seems kind of light for breakfast, isn’t it?**

_I eat again in three hours. That site you told me about is wonderful. So many recordings to listen to._

**I’m glad you like it, Cas.**

_Dean, it’s amazing. Thank you so much._

**are you headed to your piano lesson?**

_Yes._

**Tell Aunt Ellen I said hi.**


	59. Risoluto

Ellen listened to Castiel’s request for help on his project and she nodded thoughtfully. “Any other student who came to me saying that they wanted to start on their journey through the 32 in their first year, I probably would have nodded, assigned them sonata 19 and 20, and watched them get angry.”

Castiel scoffed. “Because it’s technically simple? That’s no reason to get angry. There’s delicacy and brilliance in that simplicity. What do they want to do, 29?”

“What do you want to do, Castiel?”

“19, actually. I’d like to start there. I know it’s one of the so-called easy ones, but I enjoy it very much.”

He’d played Sonata 19 for Dean, that very first day.

“Do you have it?”

“I have it,” he said, and produced some paper.

He played, and let the brilliance of the piece come through - but remembering that he played it for Dean brought a softer sadness, as if he could see the tiny lights dancing around him, made the paired note motif a sigh of regret, slowed the tempo to stretch out a sadness. He was looking at something beautiful that meant something, and then he had changed, so it changed.

He let the last notes fade to silence.

“Okay kid, that’s it,” Ellen said.

Castiel looked at Doctor Harvelle with surprise. “What is it?”

“You broke up,” She said. “And I don’t know why, what with how you two looked at each other. How you still look at each other, I’ll wager. And now you can make a light and soft sonata shed tears with a simple tempo change.”

“We broke up,” Castiel agreed, and said no more.

“Why? What did he do?”

“It wasn’t Dean.”

“Is this what Crowley did? You’re still apart?”

“I thought you knew this.”

“I know what I know, but you had better just tell me everything.”

  
  


Once he got started he wound up telling Doctor Harvelle - Ellen - most of it. He told her about Dean coming to Heaven on Sundays, about Sam texting him daily, usually just to chat but also for pep talks, about his family treating Dean’s calls as the closest approximation of how one of Heaven’s would come to call, and then come courting. He told her about--not about what happened on Valentine’s, but how he felt like he’d never have another chance. He told her about that past Sunday and how completely confusing it was to have Dean and his family continue as if nothing had happened, how infuriating that they just continued with their plans to put them back together.

“And no one agrees with you that leaving Dean is the right thing to do,” Ellen said. “Well. For the record. I think I understand why you think that. Your sense of responsibility was part of why you were chosen.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, relieved. “I do have a responsibility to the foundation, Dr. Harvelle. What we did could cause harm to it. No one is going to care that i didn’t know Dean was on the board, and they’ll blame  _him_. Say all kinds of awful things about him, believe the worst.”

“And you feel responsible for that.”

“I do,” Castiel agreed. “Because I know what he’ll do. He’ll try to ignore it. I don’t know why he never told me about being on the board.”

Ellen sighed. “I think I do.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t think that he’s qualified to have a place. He might be right, but ignoring the problem won’t make it go away.”

“And that’s what will happen if I defy the foundation and stay with him,” Castiel wrapped tight arms around his middle.

“I understand your reasoning. And I don’t really agree.”

Castiel threw up his hands. “No one listens to me.”

“I’m listening. You feel a responsibility toward the foundation. But I knew Deanna Campbell. She was my friend. She’d never want you and Dean to deny what’s happening between you, and she’d tell the board to hang.”

“Crowley--”

“Is probably trying to clean up a mess before anyone finds out.”

Castiel shrugged. “Isn’t that what he should do?”

“Cas, I don’t have a problem with you and Dean. And neither does Bobby. The others might have to get a look at you but I think that if it actually came down to it, you have more people on your side.”

“But we can’t change what happened, how it happened. Someone could still find out.”

“I can’t believe that Dean is doing nothing about this.”

“They have a plan.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “Dean says that he made the mess, and he’s got to clean it up.”

“I can talk to him,” Ellen offered.

“Oh please, don’t. They might have a reason to keep what they’re doing a secret, and I shouldn’t have told you.”

*

Castiel took his phone to the table with him, leaving piano trio No. 2 playing in the background.  _Dean, this site has Beethoven’s complete works. Well it probably has a lot of composers but I haven’t ventured out of Beethoven. What are you eating for lunch?_

**Leftover pot roast became Beef Stroganoff.**

Castiel remembered Dean’s Pot roast. His mouth watered just thinking about it.  _Oh you made pot roast? I’m envious._

**I could send you some, I was going to slice the rest for beef dip.**

_How?_

**If you didn’t want to see me, I could hand it off to Jo?**

And Jo would give him trouble for not going to get it for himself. and while he was at it, asking Dean to take him back and ruining Dean’s life.  _Maybe you should just torture me with how delicious it is._

**Cas this pot roast turned out so good. What are you eating for lunch?**

_A salad and a ground chicken burger._

**You made the bun?**

_I made the bun._

**Now I’m envious.**

He had too many buns for him to eat alone. He could…

No.

_Dean this bun is so good. I toasted it_.

**Are you listening to anything besides the piano sonatas?**

_Actually, I am listening to Piano trio no. 2 in G major right now._

**Ah, good old Opus 1. What do you think?**

_They’re wonderful, Dean. I want to skip Keyboard Techniques and listen to trio 3._

**Balthazar will skin you and make you into shoes, so you better not. Wait until you get home.**

  
  


[Trio 3](http://classical-music-online.net/en/listen/97704) astonished him from the beginning. This was Beethoven’s first opus? It was gigantic, full of dramatic changes in volume, breathless silences, and drama that fell away to sparkling, brilliant music. Beethoven made an orchestra from three instruments, and Castiel wanted it. He wanted these trios so badly. It made him hurt but he could feel playing them in the music room with Sam and Dean, could smell the rosin from their bows, could feel the spring-fragrant damp in the air as a nighttime rain trickled down the windows.

The delicacy of the adagio was rent by the loud belling of an old fashioned telephone. Castiel nearly spilled his water in his startlement, and he snatched the phone up in irritation.

He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Castiel.”

“Crowley?”

“Correct. I’m around the campus, and I thought you wouldn’t mind a meal you didn’t have to cook, see how you’re holding up.”

“I’m holding up alright,” Castiel said, but nervousness gripped him. “But I’ve got a workout tonight at eight.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can be done by then,” Crowley said, amiably. “I’ll come by at five?”

*

Crowley brought pizza, hot and thick and gooey with cheese. They ate it with knives and forks with tall glasses of cola.

“Probably not so healthful,” Crowley said. “You’re looking rather too fit to be indulging in pizza.”

“I’ll survive,” Castiel said. “This is delicious.” It was. Spicy and greasy and fill your gut satisfying.

“You haven’t homed up the place,” Crowley took a very obvious look around. The space was tidy, but still as impersonal as the day Castiel had moved in. “You need a spider plant, or something.”

“The austerity helps me focus on my studies,” Castiel said. “I don’t spend a lot of time here. I sleep, practice, and eat here. The rest of the time I’m in classes or working out or I’m at the farm.”

“So much time at home?”

“It’s calving season, and there’s a lot to do.”

Crowley put his knife and fork down, looking rather serious. “Castiel, I came here bearing pizza for a reason.”

“What is that?”

Crowley gave him a look. Castiel read sympathy in it, but also disappointment. “You never used your taxi chit after the love of music event.”

Oh. He’d forgotten all about it. They were caught.

“No, I didn’t,” Castiel said.

“Dean Winchester disappeared from the event around the same time you did.”

“So did Sam and his date,” Castiel said. “We snuck off to record another video.”

“And you managed to get home from the city with no car?” Castiel heard the skepticism.

There wasn’t anything he could do. “Dean gave me a ride.”

Crowley didn’t look angry. He looked sympathetic, and worried, and the straight line of his mouth held back the first thing he moved to say. He sighed, and leaned in.

“Castiel. I remember what it was like, that first love.” Crowley sipped some of his Coke and went on. “I remember what I believed about it. I remember how much it hurt when it ended. And I did the can’t-let-go sex. I think I understand some of what you’re feeling.”

He maybe understood his first love. That didn’t mean he understood Castiel’s. “You didn’t marry your first love.”

Crowley shook his head. “I know you probably feel like this will never happen to you again. I felt that way. It took me six months to get over it. You haven’t had enough time. Time is what you need.”

Castiel huffed. “Time heals all wounds?” As if he were fickle and thoughtless. Crowley didn’t know him. He’d never heal from Dean. There wasn’t enough time given to a man for that.

He didn’t have time to linger over pizza. He took another bite. He needed Crowley out of here.

“No, Castiel. Time lets you know your scars. You won’t walk away from this unscathed, even if you’re young and you haven’t really come into yourself yet--”

Oh, please.

“Yes, roll your eyes. But when you’re twenty five, this will look a lot different than it does now. And even more different when you’re thirty. You’ll get through this, Castiel. Your future is bright.”

“Your first love,” Castiel said. “Did it end because a third party told one of you that it had to stop?”

Crowley went very still. Castiel hadn’t expected that.

“Do you know how I feel, Crowley?”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “His parents lost their minds. They forbade him to see me. They got my parents involved. They sent him to America.”

Castiel wondered if Crowley knew what became of him.

“Then you know how Dean feels. Some of it. To have him ripped away from you, because someone else thinks you ought to stop.”

“The irony is not lost on me,” Crowley said.

“Thank you for the pizza,” Castiel said. “And I understand that you’re trying to help. That, at least, I can appreciate.”

“Do you want to keep the rest?”

“I won’t finish it,” Castiel said. “And it’s not Kosher, so I can’t offer any to my workout partner.”

“I’ll take it, then.” Crowley said.

The moment the door shut behind Crowley, his pizza box, and his four cans of Coke, Castiel had his phone in his hand.  _Dean, are you there_

**Yes, I’m here**

He swiped in the message, and  sent it before he could reconsider:  _Do you still have all that leftover beef for beef dip?_

**I do. I was going to make that for lunch tomorrow. Do you want some after all?**

_My recipe makes way too many buns. Would you like to collaborate for lunch tomorrow?_

There was a pause. Castiel held his breath, then let it out with a frown. He could be in the middle of cooking. He might not have seen it yet.

But then:  **A late lunch? after your ensemble meeting?**

_Yes. So I’d be there at about two._

**Should I pick a wine, or will you be working out?**

_It’ll be early enough in the day that it won’t matter. I’ll see you tomorrow?_

**You bet.**

Castiel slid his thumbs across the screen and sent a text to Aaron:  _Hey I’m going to see Dean tomorrow so I don’t know if I’ll be there for our workout._

A minute later: **What about tonight?**

_I’m just packing everything now._

**Get your cute ass down to the gym, I want details.**

*

“I just kind of snapped,” Castiel said, and spotted Aaron’s bench press.

“With reason,” Aaron replied. “Nerve of that guy giving you the it’s just puppy love crap. My parents were married when they were younger than you.”

“My mother, too. My brother Michael. I could have been married last summer if the council hadn’t decided I could come here to Lakeside.”

“Not me, though. I’m waiting,” Aaron said. “I want to finish school and meet a nice Jewish boy.”

Castiel laughed. “You meant to trifle with me? Aaron.”

“Why do you think I hit the ‘just friends’ track so fast? Okay, I’m stalling.”

“You’re stalling. Give me three more.”

“Three,” Aaron said, and then shut up and did four.

“Excellent!”

“I am. So very,” Aaron panted. “Okay. Your go.”


	60. Tremolo

Castiel automatically reached into his pocket for his keys the moment he climbed the first two steps of the walkway to Dean’s house. He was nearly to the second pair of steps before he realized what he was doing.

He kept his grip on the sack of home-baked buns and his bundle from the florist, rang the doorbell, and waited.

He didn’t wait long. The door opened, and Dean stood there. He held the door open wide, but Castiel stood just there and stared. Clean-shaven, dressed in a green shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Brown jeans, and the brown socks with white toes Castiel had made for him. Stared stupidly, while the smells of warm beef and sweet potatoes and home swirled out the door and drew him inside.

He wanted to kiss Dean. Kiss him right now. Instead he held out the bundle.

“Flowers, Castiel.”

“Your flowers,” Castiel said. “And they need water.”

The arrangement was a collection of spring flowers - blue irises, white and pink tulips, daffodils, daisies. They made a colorful riot on the dining room table. Dean looked at them, turned the tall cut-crystal vase they rested in this way and that.

“I thought they were pretty.”

“I have all of these flowers in the flowerbeds. They’ll bloom soon. Every other fall I dig them up and split the bulbs apart. Grandma used to always have these on the table in spring.”

“You got some early.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and smiled. “Thank you.”

  
  


Dean disappeared into the AV room and music played on the kitchen speakers. Castiel smiled at the straightforward blues guitar and 4/4 drums of Back in Black, and took a seat at the breakfast bar.

“You want to eat in here?”

“Sure,” Castiel said, and Dean set down two stemless wine glasses before him, and poured a deep burgundy wine into each. “Argentinian Malbec. Not too expensive, silky and excellent with beef served in crusty rolls with sweet potato and beetroot chips.”

“Ohh you didn’t.”

“I did,” Dean said, and pushed a paper lined basket full of deep orange and red-violet chips at him.

Castiel snatched one up. “They’re still hot,” he moaned, and let the sweet, earthy beet and pungent smoked salt break over his tongue. “I love these.”

“I know. Don't gorge yourself, I’m making Sammy’s mushrooms.”

“Did you make me ice cream?”

“I made you ice cream,” Dean said.

“I’ll make you a pie on Sunday. Cherry pie.”

“I love cherry pie.”

“I know.”

They sat together and ate chips. Dean had refilled Castiel’s glass of wine as he served the garlic roasted mushrooms atop fresh spinach leaves, crusty rolls split open and filled with thin shaved beef.

Castiel praised everything he tasted, took seconds of the mushrooms, and generously let Dean have the last beetroot chip. He lingered over the last half-glass of wine while Dean loaded the dishwasher and made coffee, taking his empty glass away and giving him a mug fixed just how he liked it - just enough sugar and black.

Next to the ice cream, it was perfect. He held the mug in one hand, the cone in the other, and if Dean’s attention lingered overlong on Castiel’s tongue curling over the dome of creamy yellow ice cream, that was all right. He caught Dean staring when he fitted his lips to the side of the cone to suck up a melting trickle, and made Dean’s lips part when he took a sip of hot coffee and moaned his appreciation.

“This is so good, Dean.”

“I, I’m glad you’re, that you’re enjoying it.”

Castiel couldn’t help smiling at having Dean’s focus. He pointed his tongue and twirled the cone around it.

“Dean,” he said, and the startled, wide-eyed look Dean laid on him was enough to make him want to laugh.

“Cas,” Dean said.

“Tell me about the plan.”

“The—the plan.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Mm.”

“Cas, you’re about killing me with that ice cream.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“It’s your tongue’s favorite.”

“Not any more.”

“Castiel Jeremiah Bauer, you are trying to kill me,” Dean choked, and Castiel let himself glance down.

“Tell me about the plan.”

“After,” Dean said. “Cas, please.”

“After,” Castiel said, and reached for Dean’s belt.

  
  


It was supposed to feel subservient, being on your knees. But Dean had showed him more than once that being the one on your feet didn’t make you the one in charge. Castiel knew how sweet it felt to surrender everything, but Dean’s closed eyes and open throated moans was him shaking into little pieces because of Castiel: Castiel’s mouth, his lips and writhing, sucking tongue. Castiel strove to take as much of Dean’s flesh into his mouth as he could, bumping up against his limit, bobbing backward to get some air before lunging forward again.

Dean shuddered and swore and kept up a gentle rocking of his hips, eyes shut tight and his head turned just a touch.

“Look at me,” Castiel said, and Dean’s eyes popped open, wide and half lost.

“Cas,” he whispered. “My God, Cas, please, hard and fast, I’m going to come—”

“Not yet,” Castiel said, and kept on. “I’m not finished.” He fastened his lips to the underside, flicking his tongue over those two bumps and  _down, slowly, relax and just—_

“Cas, that’s it, that’s how, oh  _fuck_.”

He’d done it. And just as quickly, he needed air and backed off.

“Again,” Cas said, and he did it. Over and over, down  _deep_  and back for air, sucking hard and fast. “Do it.”

Dean lasted a little longer, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Castiel watched Dean’s face tense, crumple, and relax, saw him shudder, tasted him as he spent and flooded Castiel’s mouth.

Dean was trying to drag him back up to his feet and Castiel let him, and pulled his head down to let Dean taste himself. Dean wrapped himself around Castiel and held him close.

“I swear I didn’t have this on my mind when we agreed to have lunch. I wasn’t going to—confuse you any more,” Dean said, when the kiss faded into Cas nuzzling into Dean’s neck and breathing in his scent, blended with sandalwood and rosin.

“I did,” Castiel said. “I had it on my mind from the minute I asked you.”

“You did?”

“I did. Now, tell me the plan.”

“Cas, I really should be taking care of you.”

“That can wait. I canceled my workout. Just get me back to the apartment so I can shower and change clothes for classes at 9 am.”

Dean’s glad smile shone on Cas. “Really?”

“Really. I’m yours all night.”

  
  


They sprawled all over the bordeaux suede sofa in the AV room, kissing to Led Zeppelin and all the other artists on Dean’s makeout mixtape. Cas made sure Dean was comfortable with all the pillows under his back, and he wouldn’t let Dean make a move. Dean already had a sucking bruise livid on his collarbone, and Cas drifted kisses all over Dean’s face.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, Cas,” Dean said, and put his finger on Castiel’s lips. “But will you talk to me for a minute?”

“You want to talk?” Castiel’s smile was amused.

“Yeah. I want to know what changed.”

Castiel eased back, his legs hooked in Dean’s. “It was Crowley.”

“What about him?”

“Crowley dropped by last night because I never used my taxi chit to get home on Friday night.”

“Damn. Busted. So he came to give you hell and threaten you?” Dean set his clothing back to rights.

“He came to offer sympathy, and I just… got angry.”

“Why? I mean, you agreed with him.”

“Dean, I know that things are different Outside. But when Crowley first came to me, I thought he understood what I was giving up, asking me to break it off with you.”

“How does that make a difference?” Dean shifted a little to give Cas a bit more room on the narrow couch.

“When he was talking to me last night, he was talking to me like I was a child, with a child’s love. That I would get over it. That I would forget about you. That you weren’t the light of my heart. I realized that he thought this was one step above a dalliance, that for some reason he thought I was too young to know my mind.”

“Okay, but you’re telling me that if he understood that I was…what you said—”

“My beloved,” Castiel said. “You hold me in your hand, and I rejoice.”

“Cas,” Dean said, looking a bit flushed. “You’re saying that you’re here because he thought you were just—hormonal?”

“Yes. Because he never took it seriously. That he thought I was a child who would get over it.”

“You’re twenty.”

“Outside, twenty seems too young. In Heaven, it’s high time to be married. I’m not too young to commit. I’m not too young to know what love is. Crowley doesn’t know what he was asking me to do.”

“Okay.”

“Does it make sense?”

“Yes. Sort of. It’s like, if someone asked me to give them my car, acting like I could just go out and get another one. Not knowing what it meant to me.”

“Yes. It’s…I was offended,” Castiel said. “That and the talk I had with Ellen.”

“Whoa. What happened there?

“Ellen decided to have a talk with me in her piano studies class, earlier that same day. Dean, she only knew about you and me because she knows us. Crowley never told the board about us. Therefore he never told them about breaking us up, either.”

Dean slowly smiled. “That’s perfect. That’s perfect, Cas.”

“For the plan?”

“For the plan.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“There’s a board meeting coming up, Cas. That was when we were going to do it. Do you want to be there?”

“I do. What do you need me to do?”

“Be there. Answer questions. And be stubborn about staying together.”

“I can do that,” Castiel said. “Oh, Dean. My stones are nearly gone.”

“What do you have left?”

“Well, I’m still angry about everyone trying to run my life, but you weren’t the offender there. I offended against you.”

Dean nodded.

“I left you,” Castiel said. “I said that I would hold you safe, that I would share a problem with you. I ran away, I didn’t think.”

“You left me,” Dean said. “I rushed home from LA when you didn’t answer the phone. I knew something was wrong. I got here and you were gone.”

“I know,” Castiel said. “I am sorry. I believed it was best.”

“I had a right to be part of your decision, Cas. Wasn’t that what we said? That we could have solved the problem together.”

“It’s what we said,” Castiel tried to bury his head in Dean’s chest, but Dean lifted his chin and made him look. To face what Dean felt, all the confusion and hurt and bewilderment at coming home to an empty house.

“I took the last flight of the night,” Dean said. “I spent all those hours afraid of what I’d find. I had a hundred nightmares. The last thing I could have imagined was that you had packed your bags and left. We were doing so good, I thought you were hurt, that you were--”

If there are tears in Dean’s eyes, Castiel’s vision is too watery to see them.

“When there’s trouble, Cas, when there’s a problem, you run to me,” Dean said. “To me, not away. “

“To you,” Castiel promised. “Dean, I’m so sorry. I feel so bad. I never should have gone without talking to you. I shouldn’t have listened.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That you wouldn’t let me go.”

“He was right, wasn’t he.” Dean let him hide then, let him bury his face in Dean’s neck and wet the collar of his shirt.

“That you’d let me ruin you, and that you would regret it.”

“You can’t ruin me, Cas. I wasn’t doing half bad before you came along, but I’m better with you. I didn’t do a thing to help my phobia until I met you. The worst that would have happened was I’d have gotten kicked off the board in disgrace.”

“And the foundation would have been damaged.”

“Not as bad as you think, Cas,” Dean stroked his back, and Castiel clung to him, eyes closed. “I would have weathered it.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Not quite yet,” Dean said, and Cas froze. “But I forgive you enough. Do you forgive yourself?”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Castiel said. “I ran away and everyone told me I was wrong and I didn’t listen to anyone.”

“Cas,” Dean soothed. “You thought you were doing the right thing.”

“But it didn’t  _mean_  anything,” Cas said.

“It did avoid scandal,” Dean said. “And I got to know your family better, and maybe earned a little respect. Those are good things.”

“I still feel so bad,” Castiel said.

“How can I help?”

Castiel sighed. He shook his head, and then lifted it. “Dean, I’d like you to do something for me.”

“Sure, Cas. Anything.”


	61. Displacement

Dean shook his head.  _No. No way._

“I can’t do that,” Dean said. “Cas. You’re asking me to  _hurt_  you.”

“It’s no more harm than a parent gives a child.”

Dean slid his fingers through Cas’s hair and drew Cas close, touching their foreheads together. He had to get through. “You’re not a child. I’m not your parent. There’s—look, Cas. I don’t know how much you’ve done in the way of investigating the BDSM scene—”

“I have, some.”

Dean bit back a sigh and wondered how much Cas had read and believed that they ought to be doing. “It’s supposed to be a game,” Dean said. “Fun and sexy because the bottom is into it. The reasons are made up, they’re just a pretext. Punishment isn’t supposed to be real. That’s dangerous.”

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I have this guilt. I don’t know how to move it. Maybe this won’t work, but it’s what I want to try, and I need you to help me.”

Dean stayed quiet and thought about it, then nodded. “I can help you, Cas. I can do that. Okay.”

Cas got to his feet and reached for his belt buckle, but Dean stopped him with hands on his, taking them away.

“Upstairs? Is it alright if I tie you?”

Castiel smiled in relief. “Yes.”

*

Dean had a pretty good idea what Castiel was expecting, but his job was to upend expectations. He opened the door to his bedroom and let Castiel inside, letting the door close with a distinct click.

They’d spent enough time in this space together to get used to things being a certain way. Dean watched Castiel move to exactly the spot where they always stopped, standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed, centered exactly beneath the solid beam that ran along the ridge of the roof.

He hung his head, and Dean lifted his chin gently, swept light fingers over his cheek and murmured, “Hey.”

Cas looked up and Dean didn’t bother resisting. He leaned in and kissed Cas, gentle, nearly chaste. It was Cas who opened his mouth and gave Dean his tongue, standing still while Dean cupped Castiel’s face in his hands.

“I’m gonna take care of you, all right?”

Castiel nodded.

“Tell me your safeword.”

“Knitting Needle.”

“Are you calling it out?”

“Dean please discipline me.”

“Say, ‘please help me shift my guilt.’”

“Please help me shift my guilt.”

“I will, Cas. Take off your clothes.”

 

Dean unrolled a padded mat and had Cas sit on it, letting him eye the short leather paddle shaped like a slipper sole. Cas could speculate on how it would hurt, wonder, worry about it, and breathe in the scent of leather.

“You can pick it up,” Dean said, and Castiel reached for it.

“The inside of your forearm is a good place to test how it feels,” Dean said, after Cas hadn’t done much besides turn it over in his hands.

He went through his closet and into his own bathroom to find something else, and heard a slap, a hiss. Dean nodded to himself and returned to lay a hairbrush down within Castiel’s reach. He walked back into the closet, and listened for the flat thud of Castiel testing the back of the brush on his arm. It came, and Dean walked back out and dropped his favorite leather belt on the floor by Castiel’s knee, thumping into the padded mat.

Castiel flinched.

Dean bent over and picked the belt back up, walked back to the closet with it.

“Dean, please. You should probably use that,” Castiel said.

“Because you’re afraid of it?”

Dean turned around. Castiel’s eyes were fixed on the tongue of the belt, swinging from Dean’s hand.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Then no,” Dean said, and hung it up.

He came back and knelt in front of Castiel, holding him by the upper arms. “I won’t hurt you with something you’re afraid of, Cas. Not even if you think you deserve it. Do you understand?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, Dean.”

“If you want to play with things you fear, that’s a talk for another day. Today we’re shifting guilt. Do you still want to do that?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, and looked up. “Please help me shift my guilt, Dean.”

“I will, Cas. You’re ready.”

*

Castiel stood still for Dean while he tied the turtle-shell harness around Castiel’s body, taking extra care to place every line exactly how he wanted it. He knew Castiel wanted to pout at the wrist braces, and laughed softly, kissing his forehead.

“We have to take care of your hands,” Dean said. “Arms spread, or cozy?”

Castiel stretched out his arms experimentally, then drew them in over his chest. “Cozy.”

“Good. You’ll be here for a while, I think.”

Dean wove rope over Castiel’s arms, threading the line through the harness to keep them tucked in, hands folded over his breastbone. He was beautiful like this, already losing his apprehension to the comfort of the ropes all around him.

“Good?”

“Yes.”

“Lots of rope on your legs?”

“Please. But Dean—”

“Hmm?”

“This doesn’t feel like punishment.”

Dean smiled and skimmed his fingers over Castiel’s mouth, his jaw. “We’re shifting guilt, Cas. This is for the last of your stones.”

“But what about the slipper and the hairbrush?”

“Maybe we’ll find out if you like them.”

“You fooled me,” Castiel said with a laugh, and lifted his legs for Dean and his ropes.

“Are you mad?” Dean asked, and hitched the line just above one knee. “Cas, your legs, oh damn. I need longer line. What have you been doing?”

“Exercise.”

Dean laughed.

“I’m not mad, Dean. This feels wonderful. But I think I don’t deserve it.”

“Talk to me, Cas.”

“I feel really foolish. I stayed away from you for so long, and I treated you badly. You kept coming to me, and I wouldn’t send you away, and I wouldn’t take you back. That had to hurt you.”

Dean picked up another line and crossed Castiel’s ankles before binding them together. “The worst was that first day. Not knowing what happened. Not understanding.”

“Dean I am so sorry. I just got so caught up, imagining what people would believe—”

“Hold on,” Dean kept wrapping the line by touch as he watched Castiel’s face. “You were imagining it?”

“Yes. They wouldn’t believe us.”

“Cas, do you remember why you were imagining it?”

“Crowley was talking about it.”

“Can you remember if he used that word? Imagine?”

“He did.” Castiel lifted his head. “Why?”

“I think he manipulated you, Cas.”

“I decided to go, though.”

“I mean on purpose. I had a sales job for about five days, and they told us to use that word when trying to sell them. ‘Just imagine how this will feel,’ stuff like that.”

Cas shifted along the mat as if trying to scratch an itch. “He didn’t do all of it. I kept telling myself I had to sacrifice for the greater good. That everything depended on me. I was prideful.”

Dean swatted Cas’ butt. Cas jumped, and giggled.

“You can do it harder.”

“And I will,” Dean said, and stood up. He grabbed the line that dangled from the pulley in the ridge beam. “I was so frustrated that first night. I thought I was just going to get the big movie kiss and you’d come home with me.”

“And instead you got a faceful of my brothers,” Castiel said, and huffed out a laugh. “I couldn’t have gone with you. I wanted to.”

“Did you?”

“Dean I didn’t want to be away from you for one moment.”

“I know,” Dean said, and finished his binding knot from Castiel’s ankles to the line. A tug on the other end raised Castiel’s feet higher, higher, and his toes splayed wide as he struggled. Cas was a lot stronger than he had been; Dean had to fight to keep his legs raised.

“Still, Cas.”

Castiel stopped struggling immediately, and Dean hitched the end of the line quickly.

Dean stood back and admired the sight. He’d tied Castiel for his comfort more than his appearance. That didn’t matter. The ropes wound and hitched around Castiel’s thighs made a web that contrasted over the cut lines of his muscles, flexed to fight and struggle—

“Still, Cas. Be still.”

He wasn’t worried that Cas would pull the hook out, or hurt himself. Struggling excited Cas. This wasn’t for that.

Not yet.

Dean knelt at Castiel’s side and ran his hand over the web of lines and knots over Castiel’s arms. “Nothing numb?”

“Nothing,” Cas said. “It’s so good.”

“I was telling you what it was like, to see you on Sundays.”

“You said it was frustrating.”

“At first. But it was… there were rules to follow, guidelines for what to do, what not to do. All very controlled. It gave me space to think. And you’re different in Heaven.”

“I’m not, not really.”

“Well I learned things about you there that I don’t think I would have learned otherwise.”

“Like that I can cook?”

“I knew that,” Dean said, and traced all the little diamonds on his skin. “You’re great with your niece. I wondered if you would miss having children.”

“I like children. Birth is a miracle. I love Lulu so much I’d lay down my life for her. But she’s not mine. I don’t think I need that.”

“What do you need?”

“I need music in my life. I need you. I need this.” Castiel smiled fondly at him, but it faded. “When I said yes to you in the hotel, I thought it might have been my last chance.”

“You think I’d let you go that easy?” Dean shook his head. “No way. But it didn’t sit right with you, did it.”

“No,” Castiel said. “When you didn’t walk away from me, I felt selfish and guilty. Selfish for laying with you when I—when we flouted the bounds set for us by my family.”

“And I never did,” Dean said. “Cas. Will you feel guilty for this? What we’re doing right now? Because we are way out of bounds.”

“Mmm,” Cas answered. “We’ll wind up in hot water if Michael knows what we’re doing—”

“I will make this right, Cas. I will.”

“We’re already right,” Castiel said, and wriggled. “I just mean, maybe there’s some things they don’t need to know?”

“Naughty,” Dean said, and swatted him again.

“Ah!”

“You said I could go harder,” Dean said.

“I did. It’s - interesting.”

“Oh, really.” Dean caressed the spot he just spanked. “Tell me something else.”

“I think I knew that I was coming back to you when I saw you in the cafe. Playing for an audience.”

“Twenty five, including you and Aaron. I only lost three.”

“Still. You were playing for people who usually keep talking through music, and you held them.” Cas writhed in the ropes again, frowning. “Can you?”

“Itch?”

“Yes. Shoulder near you. - underneath a bit. Closer to the knot—there, oh perfect,” Cas sighed and turned to jelly in the ropes. “Will you sneak around with me for a little longer?”

“Will you feel guilty about it?”

“If I do, I think we know how to fix it,” Castiel said.

“Your stones are gone?”

“My stones are gone.”

Dean bent to kiss Castiel. “Good. Slipper or hairbrush?”


	62. Interludes and moments

Dean got Castiel a cushion to sit on, but Castiel didn’t use it. He would wince, and then smile to himself, and Dean nodded in satisfaction. That was the way Cas should look after a spanking - pleased with himself. Castiel’s way would always have him thinking of paddling and spankings as a sign that he’d done something wrong, something that warred with the rush of endorphins that came after a good reddening. He had kicked and struggled and tried not to howl, and that made Dean all the more determined to make him do it.

But Castiel got to the point where he was scarlet before he’d done more than whimper, so Dean admitted defeat before he’d go too far and hurt him. Dean brought Castiel down gently and got him Dean’s softest knit pants, and Castiel wandered around the house with a happy, still a bit stoned look.

*

In the morning, Dean insisted he take the iPad. Cas missed it. He had both it and his laptop open on his desk, working on synchronizing the files for school between both of them while he browsed the Internet, bookmarking pages for his research. He was still waiting for Sam to respond to him, but he knew Sam was in his chamber music group.

It took another hour.  **Cas,**  Sam sent.  **What’s up, what do you need me to keep a secret?**

 _Everything I’m about to tell you,_  Castiel swiped his fingers over the screen keyboard and words leapt faster than he could type. He attached one of the photos he saved from his journey on the web.  _Do you think Dean would like that?_

**Cas. Are you planning what I think you’re planning?**

_I believe so, Sam, but I need you to help me._

**Well I think he’d really like it.**

_It’s a tall order but can you buy that for me in New York, and I’ll do a bank transfer for it? I have the address of the shop._

**Sure, no problem.**

_Not too weird?_

**It’s handleable weird.**

_I also hope that you are able to come to my mother’s for Sunday dinner when you get here._

**Yeah, Sunday’s fine**.

_Yes. I’ll fill you in on what you need to know. We’ve got a bit over a week, that’s enough time for a crash course._

**I’m looking forward to it.**

*

Castiel had to go to Heaven for the weekend, and so wouldn’t be sitting in the audience, but Dean had already played Suite 5 and 6 for him at home.

At home. Oh, Cas hadn’t moved anything back. He wouldn’t spend every night with Dean. But when Dean had mentioned that Cas still wanted to go home on the weekends, Cas had corrected him: “After I’ve gone to my family’s. This is home.”

He’d told Sam about it, and about Castiel’s report on what Crowley had done, and the conclusion that they’d already made getting more confirmation: Their plan could go ahead. Castiel’s inclusion made it stronger.

But then it was time to go to Beaver Island Cafe and finish his series. He had repeat audience, including Aaron, sitting off to the side, alone.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Aaron said. “Thought I’d check out the rest, sorry I missed the first two.”

“Oh, no problem,” Dean said.

“And I wanted to tell you. When I first met Cas, I—”

“Hit on him,” Dean said. “I know. He told me.”

“Okay. And the-”

“Kissing. Yeah. I know about that too.”

“Well.” Aaron scratched his ear. “You seem sanguine.”

“We’re cool, Aaron. Cas can handle himself. You sticking around?”

“Sure. I want to hear what you’ve got.”

*

That Sunday Cas had made him a cherry pie, exactly as promised. It was sweet and flaky and still a tiny bit warm, and perfect with Mrs. Bauer’s herbal blend of tea. Four chairs sat in the parlor that evening, and all the Bauer men were busy with needles and yarn for socks.

“I feel like I should learn to do that.”

“You’d start with scrub cloths,” Michael said. “Knitting in a tube isn’t too difficult, but it helps to know the stitches.”

“You’d make a fair spinner, Dean Michael,” Naomi said. “There’s always what to be spun. Castiel, trade places with me, I’ll teach him how to prepare roving.”

She had him splitting fiber and splicing ends together. It came past time for them to start on their walk. Then it was nearly time for him to go home so Inias could drive Cas back to his apartment. He glanced at Cas a few times, but he kept on with his work, talking to Michael about work that needed to be done on a green cottage.

“It seems I’ve gone on rather late,” Mrs. Bauer said, at ten minutes past the time he should have been gone. “Dean, you would do Inias a great favor if you could see Castiel safely home.”

“I can do that, ma’am.”

“And I look forward to meeting your brother Sam. Such a tall young man! I barely got more than a glimpse of him at the watch.”

“I’ll bring him next Sunday,” Dean promised, and Castiel hung onto his arm to steady his balance, getting into his boots.

The windows of the Impala were beyond fogged. They were frosted, Dean saw as he lifted his head from the reddened, swollen peak of Castiel’s nipple. He had no idea what time it was. Castiel had caught his chin and pulled him in for another one of those honey and herb flavored kisses that made Dean waver between trying not to get busted by a campus cop and staying right where they were, or stopping long enough to get them home and Castiel in his bed, but either way, those button-fly jeans Castiel wore on a Sunday were coming off, and then he was going to—

“Dean,” Castiel pulled his head away, and Dean crouched over him, vowing to modify the front seat so it would recline all the way back.

Castiel just slid his hand under Dean’s chest and bench-pressed him up.

“I have an examination with Professor Balthazar in the morning,” he said. Shit, but he was strong. “Why don’t you rush on home and call me?”

“Call you? Oh. Yes. I’ll call you. Soon as I get home.”

“I’ll already be in bed,” Castiel said, and gave him one more kiss before sliding out of the car.

*

Dean spent some time working on the delivery of his remarks for the board meeting, but kept an eye out for Castiel’s hangout icon to flash green. He had his tablet in hand as soon as it did.   **How was it?**

_It was pretty good. On my way to an actual on paper exam. Do you have time to spend the afternoon with me? Once I’m out of this test I’m free until my workout_

**I can make you a pizza, since I was going to make me a pizza. Or I can have you make the dough and we’ll think of something to do while it rises?**

_I have an idea or two._

*

This is their week, now. Text chatting between Castiel’s classes, afternoons spent together until Castiel goes to the gym and then home. They talk on the phone while Castiel gets ready for bed, and Dean wakes up at six to listen to Castiel’s morning practice over skype while he makes breakfast. Castiel cancels his workout on Thursday so they can spend the night and sneak Castiel back to his apartment on time to meet Inias. they’re sneaking around, and Dean counts the days until the board meeting, the day that he’ll end this subterfuge for good.


	63. Rhapsody

Sam made it home an hour later than Dean expected, and by then the smell of chili was making him crazy with hunger.

“Dean. Sorry I’m late. dinner smells good. Have you eaten?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“Sorry.”

“You look bagged,” Dean said, and took his violin case away to walk it to the music room.

Sam dropped his bag and shrugged out of his snowy coat. “Cas isn’t here?”

“He’s already gone back to the commune for the weekend,” Dean said. “He doesn’t get decent data signal out there, but if you wanted to talk to him you could phone.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Sam got up and hid in his room for the call.

*

On the next Sunday, Dean let himself back into the house with a shout. “Jumping J. Jonah Jameson it’s cold out there,” Dean said. “If I hadn’t left the heat on in the garage I don’t think Baby would have started.”

He did walk all the way around the house to come in through the front door. Sam was packing his fiddle and his concert violin into a duffle. Dean had packed up his antique and already stowed it in the car, humming Piano Trio no. 1.

Cas wanted them to come a bit early this Sunday, because all the introductions would take some time, and there might be some callers come to get a look at Sam again. Most of the commune probably hadn’t expected a fiddler to match their Inias, and might hope to hear a little music.

So when they arrived at the yellow and white house Dean wasn’t surprised to see that there were already shoes lined up in the hallway. Women’s shoes. Dean grinned.

Sam took it in stride, greeting everyone informally, while Inias handled the naming of the bevy of women in the parlor. None of them stayed for long, happy to say hello and ask if he’d be there for the dancing at the Spring Calling.

“I can’t,” Sam said, much to their regret. “I’ll be back in New York.”

“Dean,” Castiel hissed, and Dean turned around and smiled.

Castiel wore the pants and waistcoat of his charcoal suit with a deep violet dress shirt. He held a pewter paisley tie in his hands.

“Help?”

“Every time,” Dean said, and wrapped the silk jacquard around his neck, fastening it in a wide knot that would fill the space between his collar points. “You smell good, Cas, what is that?” It was warm and sweet and he could swear there was roses and cardamom but he’d have to really get a good sniff to be sure. An hour would do it.

“Anna gave it to me,” Castiel said. “She made it from her stillroom supplies. Anna makes soap and skin cures.”

“Tell her I want to buy a gallon of it.”

Castiel laughed and rolled up his sleeves. “I have to check on supper, and I’m keeping you from our callers.”

“Not for long. I brought ice cream for you. Caramel ice cream.”

“I saw it arrive,” Castiel said. “Benjamin was very excited.”

“Where are you, Dean Michael?” That was Naomi’s voice, cutting through the crowd.

“Here,” Dean said, and navigated his way through the standing crowd in the parlor.

*****

Castiel had cooked the entire supper himself - roast lamb and oven roasted sweet potatoes, onions, parsnips, carrots, and garlic, a creamy soup of potatoes, pear, and earthy mushrooms, and the first spears of asparagus. Sam had double helpings of the soup and room for a warm ramekin of pie and a scoop of Dean’s caramel ice cream melting on top.

At the end of the meal Sam caught Castiel’s eye. Dean saw it, but he had no idea what they were nodding to each other about. “Sam, you’re a first time guest, so the dishes are not your job,” Castiel told him.

Castiel tossed a flour sack towel to Dean. “I’ll be right back.” He took Sam out to the parlor.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Benj,” Dean said. “We’ll have to hurry so you can get a chance to play before you have to go to bed.”

“I remember Sam Winchester’s playing at the Watch. Are you going to play your cello too?”

“I should learn a dance or two, shouldn’t I? All I know is sitting music.”

“I’m back,” Castiel said, and steered Dean out of the way of the sink.

“How is the calving going?”

Castiel put his hands in the sink and scrubbed a plate. “We’re almost done. Only one. And she’s taking her sweet time about it.”

“Are you on call, doc?”

“I’m not. If need be, Inias will go.”

*****

The parlor didn’t have enough chairs for Castiel to have a seat anywhere but at the spinning wheel. Dean gave him a rueful look, but that changed to confusion as Cas steered Dean to sit before the wheel.

What was he supposed to do? He hadn’t learned anything but making the batt of fleece into a long rope for spinning. There was some, but—

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean and smiled. That did it. Dean put the batt away and listened to Sam, who was talking.

“I am Dean’s younger brother, and I am his family,” he said. “Our mother died when I was just a baby. Our father died before I became a man.”

Dean blinked. That was an odd thing to say.

“With so little family, you would need to join one to be complete,” Mrs. Bauer said. “What does your brother have to offer?”

_What do I what?_

“My brother is an excellent cook,” he was saying. “And as you know, a fine musician. He accompanies Castiel whenever they have an opportunity to play music together.”

“Castiel is a good hand at cooking. Everything you ate today was his making.” Naomi made lace with fine thread and a tiny hook. Dean had watched her work at it before, usually when she planned to stay in the parlor long and talk about Castiel’s fine qualities with him.

But this seemed like…

“My brother preserves food. He cans and pickles. His pickled carrots are delicious.”

“This won’t do,” Michael said. “One isn’t enough for this.”

_Enough for what?_

Michael got up and settled into the chair next to Sam. “I shall speak of the merits of Dean Michael.”

“You’re going to what?” Dean asked, but no one paid him any mind.

“Dean Michael is persistent,” Michael said. “He does not easily give up.”

“Dean Michael is an Outsider and ignorant of our ways,” Naomi said, and Dean felt a little hurt. She was the one who had brought him the pie and told him when to come to Sunday dinner, why speak against him now?

Castiel shook his head slightly when Dean opened his mouth to protest, and he quieted.  _This has to be some custom that they have to go through before marriage._

“Where he is ignorant, he learns,” Michael said.

“He is happier with Castiel than I’ve seen him in a long time,” Sam said. “He strives to be a better man since they’ve met, and he was already a good one.”

“Dean Michael is loyal,” Michael said. “Prompt, courteous, and brave.”

“And patient,” Sam said.

“He has a fine house, one with much love in it. Love that he made from his hands.”

“And most importantly,” Sam said. “They love each other.”

“Is that true, Castiel Jeremiah?” Naomi asked.

“Yes, it’s true,” Castiel said. “I love him.”

“Is that true, Dean Michael?” Naomi asked.

“Yes, it’s true,” Dean said, and looked at Castiel standing next to the wooden chair where Benjamin sat. He waited the half-beat until Castiel looked back, and then said it. “I love him.”

Sam’s head snapped around to stare at him, drop-jawed. Dean barely saw it.

Castiel stared at Dean, gazed at him with surprise that melted into a huge smile. “Mother, may I speak to Dean alone?”

“Use the study,” Naomi said.

*

 

Dean had never been in here. The room smelled like decades of paper all stored in one place, generations of pages scented with ballpoint ink and mimeographs and photocopiers. it was a little room with a view of a little bit of back yard, thick with bare branched fruit trees. Dean couldn’t see more in the dark. He turned around and Castiel was close enough to kiss, close enough for that spicy sweet scent to wrap seductive fingers around his mind and whisper that no one would know if they did. The door closed behind him with a scrape of wood; Cas had to lift the door to get it to close.

Dean knew how to fix that. Maybe if he re-hung the door Mrs. Bauer would approve of him again. “Cas, I can fix--”

“You love me.”

“Of course I do, Cas. Didn’t you know?”

“I knew,” Castiel said. “I must speak to you.”

“What about?” Dean asked.

Castiel took Dean’s hand. “About our life together. Dean. It doesn’t matter what the Board decides or doesn’t decide. I don’t want that to play any part of this.”

“Our--are you saying you want to move back in with me? That you want me to--wait.”

Details trickled back to Castiel on a snowy road, angrily explaining the etiquette.   _“When you ask for permission to speak to me alone, you only get ten minutes.”_

Dean snapped back to the tiny office, of Castiel standing there in the charcoal suit and tie, the scent of old paper, cardamom, and roses that he would remember forever.

He held Castiel’s hand and listened.

“The commune will build a house for us, if we say that we want it, but I’ve always imagined us living in your house,” Castiel said. “Just like I imagine us playing music together. You and me. Sam, when he’s back. We might never play a concert hall, but I want to play music with you.”

“Cas, I want to be on stage with you.” He did. He wanted to perform with Castiel. And Castiel and Sam, but he thought of them on a stage as often as he thought of them in the music room. “And I want us to live in our house.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Castiel said. “It doesn’t matter how we live together. It only matters that we do. I’ve read about Outside courtships, and they’re usually quite long. I know it hasn’t been so long. I’ve known you six months.”

“Long enough.”

“And maybe you’d want to wait longer, but I know. I’ve known since I came home to you. And I see no reason to wait.”

“Cas,” Dean said.

Castiel got down on one knee—the left.  _“It’s customary to get down on one knee - on the left knee. Getting down on the right is a symbol of worship.”_

“Dean Michael Winchester, I love you. I have loved you and I will love you, and I would ask you to honor me and become my husband.” Castiel reached into his pocket and produced a deep burgundy satin box, and opened it, holding it up for Dean to see.

It was a wide gold band with the most shocking diamond: a half-circle mounted into the ring, one side cut flush to the band’s edge. Dean knew that it was half a ring. He knew that there was another band, maybe a little narrower, with the other half of this exact diamond ready to join it when vows were exchanged.

Dean had never imagined that he’d want an engagement ring so much.

“Cas—Castiel Jeremiah Bauer— _Cas_ ,” Dean said, his throat tight and his heart—his heart glowed. “I thought I was going to be the one asking you.”

“You can, still. If you want to,” Castiel said. “If you’d rather be the one to ask.”

“No. Wait. Yes.”

The ring box wavered, uncertainly. “You’d rather ask?”

Dean held that hand steady, brought it back.  “Castiel Jeremiah Bauer, I will marry you. I’ll marry you, and I’ll ask you, and then you can marry me and we’ll go on two honeymoons. Yes. Yes, Cas. Give me that ring.”


	64. Scherzo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scherzo is usually the fourth movement of a sonata. it's light, playful, not terribly serious, and yet it's still an important part of the entire composition.

It had occurred to Castiel more than once that he should probably buy a second suit. He did need one. But the ring took a bigger chunk out of his savings account than his digital piano and his laptop combined, and his share next month wouldn’t be very big. He looked at one promising jacket, and went looking for another once he saw the price on the tag.

“Castiel.”

“Dean.”

Dean dragged him in by the back of the neck and kissed his forehead. “Will you let me buy you clothes?”

Sam turned away, but he was smiling.

“It would be foolish of me to say no,” Castiel said.

“But you feel like you should,” Dean said. “I know how I’d feel if my wife made more money than me.”

“That is so sexist.”

Dean laughed. “And you’re doing it right now.”

“You have a point. All right, then. What should I choose?”

“To come with me to Tom Ford,” Sam said.

“Oh, what have I done,” Dean said.

“Opened the wallet,” Sam said. “Come on, Cas. I will make sure that you get something that will be wearable on stage. Mine won’t be.”

Sam was nearly rubbing his hands together at the prospect.

“Sam, how many suits do you own, you’re going to buy another one?”

“Most of them are for performance.”

  
  


Sam and Dean continued this back-and-forth all the way up the street and into a sleek looking boutique. Sam did most of the talking, introducing them to Haskell as “My brother and future brother in law.” Sam apologized for the rush but they really did need to pick out a new suit for Castiel.

“Blue, I think,” Sam said. “And gray.”

“Ocean or Navy?” the man asked.

“He’ll want navy, but I think try him in both. My brother will want a dark color. Don’t let him look at anything black.”

“I like that one,” Dean said, and nodded toward a suit form. “Exactly like that.”

The man helping them eyed it thoughtfully. “Yes, I think so. And what do you want, Sam?”

“Spring suits,” Sam said. “Dean. Cas should have a spring suit too, he’s got end of year performance.”

“That can wait,” Castiel said.

“Why not? We’re here. Just don’t look at any price tags.”

  
  


Haskell got them sorted into individual changing rooms. “I want Castiel’s choice right away, because we’re going to have to rush the alterations.”

Castiel came out in the navy suit, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re right, my other suit is tight in the shoulders.” His tie was still undone, and he walked over to Dean.

Haskell didn’t comment about Dean tying Castiel’s tie for him, instead touching the rolled shoulders, checking the ease. “How does this feel?”

“Better. I don’t feel like I’m going to tear the seam in back.”

Haskell turned Cas around to check the fall of the peaked lapel. “Double breasted is very flattering on well-built men, and if you had enough time to do the alterations, I’ve got a wool-silk in Oxford gray that I’d try on you.”

“Maybe a double breasted jacket for my non-concert spring suit?” Castiel asked. He liked suits. They weren’t for every day but they made him stand a little taller.

“Attaboy, Cas,” Sam said.

Haskell knelt in front of Castiel, checking the inseam. “How about the legs.”

Cas’s face felt hot. No one did that but Dean. “A little close in the thigh, but I think they’re all right.”

Dean nodded to reassure him, but he was fighting an amused smirk. Castiel made a face at him. Dean had to turn around to keep from laughing.

“Castiel I’m convinced the navy is right, but we should go up a waist size on the pants and alter them to fit.” Haskell got to his feet. “Let’s get that coat marked up.”

  
  


They walked out two hours later with bags full of shirts, ties, and pocket squares. Dean had made Cas turn his back while he was paying, and didn’t let him look at the receipt.

“Three suits, Dean. Three.”

“And you’ll look great in all of them. Come the board meeting, you’ll be dressed to kill.”

“And Sam’s choice is good.”

“I was skeptical but I’m convinced. I almost wish I thought of it. Now for shoes. And don’t look at the price tags.”

  
  


Castiel looked. And then stared at Dean in horror. “I can’t—”

“Cas. How much does the concert piano of your dreams cost?”

Castiel knew the exact answer, but didn’t want Dean to know that. “About sixty thousand dollars.”

“Is that unreasonable?”

“No, it’s a necessary part of being a professional musician. Sam would pay at least that much for a new violin, and so would you for a new cello.”

“Suits are a necessary part of being a professional musician, Cas. And shoes. I like these, what do you think?” Dean held up a long, square toed slip on and wouldn’t let Castiel flip it over to inspect the sole (and the price.)

“I think you’re going to spend a year’s tuition on me today,” Castiel said.

“And it’s fun,” Sam said. “Check it out.”

Sam wore a pair of black cap-toe oxfords. “Perfect for my suit. Cas, they have a wingtip style of these in black, you want to try them?”

“Dean?”

“Cas.”

“Is it fun?”

“Yeah, it’s fun. Hell, let’s do it again next month.”

  
  


The trunk was stuffed with bags by the time they turned around and drove out of the city. There were no instruments cramming the back seat, but Castiel sat in the middle of the front seat and watched the sparkling half-diamond on Dean’s left hand, guiding the steering wheel. Castiel loved that ring. No other ring would have done.

Dean caught him looking at it when they stopped for a light, and stole a kiss before making a left towards Lakeside.

“So are you two going to stick with this separate apartments and saving it for marriage thing?” Sam asked.

“So what if we were?”

“Nothing, do what you want, I just wondered if you were going to need to drive Cas back to his place or not and if not then can I borrow the car to go see Jess?”

“Castiel?”

“Let Sam borrow the car, Dean.”

“Aw yeah,” Sam crowed. “I don’t know when I’ll be back tonight, but I will be back tonight.”

“What, no walk of shame?”

“It’s not time yet,” Sam said.

“Sounds serious, Sam.”

“Feels serious,” Sam agreed.

  
  


Sam stayed long enough to eat pulled pork on a bun and half the bowl of salad before he took the keys and left Dean and Castiel to clean up, promising to handle breakfast in the morning.

“Sam asked a good question in the car,” Dean said. “Do you want to keep your separate apartment until we’re married?” Dean looked down at his finger again and smiled at his ring.

“I thought i should but I don’t, actually,” Castiel had the dishwasher open and was stacking plates and silverware into their places. “But I would like to keep my old room, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure it is. Absolutely. No question.” Dean said.

“I still want to work out at the gym with Aaron, at least until the year is done. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Dean said. “So he hit on you, so what. I would if I were him. And I like the guy. He’s funny.”

“How do you know that?” Castiel asked, and poured them the last of the wine.

“He showed up to the cafe on Friday night to hear me play the rest of the cello suites,” Dean explained. “And to come clean to me about how he met you.”

“But I already told you.”

“He didn’t know that,” Dean said. “He told me about the kiss, too. And you’d already told me about that.”

“So did you tell him to leave your boyfriend alone?”

“I told him that you could handle yourself.”

“Good,” Castiel said. “I’m glad. And if you want to come with us—”

“He invited me too, actually. Let me come on your easy day.”

“That’s Wednesday.”

“It’s a date. Your suit should be ready Thursday.”

“Yours too.”

Dean turned his head and drank the last of his wine before covering Castiel’s hand with his left. “I didn’t want to drive back into town, so I booked us a suite.”

“You just like drunken hotel sex.”

“So what if I do?”

 

Sam came along for Wednesday night at the gym, and helped Castiel’s workout with his presence. He kept up the competitiveness throughout the spin session, pushed Dean to lift heavier for fewer reps, and set the yoga class on its ear. They were used to Castiel and Aaron. Dean knew the poses well enough to follow smoothly, but Sam just seemed to fill a room.

He couldn’t help it, Castiel supposed.

It wasn’t until they’d left the building that Castiel remembered that he didn’t live across the street from the gym any more. “Oh. Aaron. I moved back in with Dean. I just remembered.”

“We can go to the juice bar,” Aaron offered.

“Nah, come over,” Dean said. “You can follow me in.”

“I can ride with Aaron to get him there,” Sam offered.

“I’m not sure you’d fit in my car,” Aaron said. “I drive a Mini.”

“Yeah? It’ll be a bit of a squish, but I’ll live.”

“Excellent. This way. So break my heart and tell me you’re the straight brother,” Aaron said, and Dean kept his lips pressed firmly together as they got into the Impala.

“Sam in a mini. I need to watch this,” Dean laughed, and drove back towards home.

  
  


Haskell was impatient to see how the suit fit, but when Cas seized the untied ends of his tie protectively, Haskell gave Dean a smile and an inviting gesture.

Dean stepped up and aligned the ends and Castiel lifted his chin to let him loop and wrap his pearl-gray tie into a wide knot.

“Do I look good?” Cas asked, but the little smile on his face said he knew.

“Cas, you look like you’re ready to buy a bank. You look awesome.”

Castiel smiled and took his place before the mirror. He liked this suit. Very much. He liked the high roll of the jacket’s sleeve, set in at the shoulder, the dramatic v-silhouette from his shoulders to his hips, and the lapels that pointed up and away. Haskell checked the fall, turned him sideways to show the curve of the back, and approved of the half inch of snowy white shirt cuffs exposed at the wrists. “You don’t wear a watch.”

“My phone knows what time it is.”

“Very modern, isn’t he,” Haskell said to Dean, who burst into laughter with Castiel.

“It’s funny because I’m from the north country,” Cas explained. “I grew up on a working farm.”

“That would explain why you don’t wear a watch. I like the length of the trousers, what do you think?”

Castiel looked at his reflection’s ankles and nodded. His socks still felt uncomfortably thin, but he had to admit that they added a bit of flair - they were banded with many colored stripes on a gray background.

“It’s good,” Castiel said. “It’s all really good. I can’t wait to see how the new suits look.”

“Should be within the next week,” Haskell winked at Dean. “Break a leg tonight.”


	65. Viola d'amore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluffy sweetness, it goes on. Also NSFW

Castiel did his best not to gawk, but the lobby of Dean’s choice of hotel was elegant in a way that Castiel recognized as Art Deco. They crossed a white marble floor inlaid with scrolls of black granite that repeated on the massive frosted glass wall that separated a comfortable looking lounge from check-in.

Castiel had his fingerprint scanned and thanked the concierge before they rode up the elevator to their floor. Sam stopped to get his bags from the luggage cart and tipped their bellman. He split off to the right, calling, “Break a leg, Dean,” before his room unlocked and let him in.

Castiel followed him inside and blinked.

The room was  _beautiful_. It was a darker version of Dean’s color scheme at home - the walls were a warm, soft gray, the carpet lead, the asymmetrical, velvet sofa and chairs colored smudged charcoal. Mirrors bore beveled edges and silver-gilt frames, and the room’s tables were all circles or ovals topped with smoked glass.

“This is the only suite with a piano,” Dean said, and Castiel laughed.

“It’s amazing, Dean.”

“I made reservations for us in the dining room. Basically what you have on is fine.”

“How long?”

“Half an hour.”

“I want to change clothes.”

“Bedroom is through there,” Dean said.

 

The bedroom also had a master bath, and Castiel regretted the marble floor. They looked nice, but they were always so cold. This one was white and silver with black bath mats and towels, very much to Dean’s taste. Castiel showered quickly and changed to a new pair of dove gray trousers with one of his new shirts. Dean had liked the strong blue and said that it brought out his eyes. He matched it with a pale blue tie and stepped out.

“Dean?”

“Here. You ready?”

“I am, except for—”

Castiel stopped, and smiled. “You changed too.”

Dean wore his favorite brown shirt with a stormy gray-blue tie, wrapped in one of Dean’s favorite fancy tie knots. “Thought if you were going to, I should.”

Dean made quick work of Castiel’s tie. Cas held his hand while they rode in the elevator and walked across the lobby to a restaurant,  where they were greeted and led to a window booth. A bottle of wine breathed on their table, and Dean tasted it before approving the vintage.

Castiel looked up at hundreds of amber glass lamps scattered across the ceiling.

“It’s like fireflies,” Castiel said. Dean watched him look around the softly lit room. “I like this place. A lot, Dean.”

“New favorite?”

“Yes.”

Dean touched the wine glass in front of Castiel. “Drunk sex good for you?” 

“We’re in a hotel. It’s tradition,” Castiel smiled.

“Hungry?”

“Definitely.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Castiel said. “All I have to do is answer questions. What about you, though?”

“I have to handle the presenting,” Dean said. “Don’t like to think about that but it won’t be too bad. I’ll talk to Bobby and Ellen, mostly, make eye contact on the right beats, run the slides…”

“You’ve got slides?”

“Only a couple.”

“You’ve got  _slides_ ,” Castiel giggled.

“They were Sam’s idea,” Dean muttered.

They skipped appetizers and went for tenderloin steaks with scallops wrapped in house-cured bacon. It arrived with steamed green beans piled high with lemon juice, slivered almonds, and salt, though their waiter brought them butter when Castiel asked for it.

Castiel had wanted to order dessert, but Dean overrode him. “I ordered dessert in our room, it should be there by the time we go up.”

 

 

Dean had almost blown it twice. He had a plan, and they’d gotten through it without him opening his mouth at the wrong time. Now they stood in the elevator and Dean couldn’t remember a single thing he was going to say.

The doors opened and he led Cas out to the hallway, and opened the door to his suite.

Service had been in. He could smell it. Castiel could too, from the way he gasped and gripped Dean’s hand tight. “Dean.”

Dean led them inside, but let Castiel walk ahead.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “So many roses.”

The air was heavy with them. Every table bore a vase with a dozen roses - red and white and white roses with red at the edges of the petals, arranged with branches of ivy - passionate love, purity, unity, marriage.

It was what he’d originally planned, before Cas stole his thunder by getting on one knee in a tiny room of the house where he was born. To surround them with roses and and say everything that had flown away the moment the elevator lurched upwards in time with the downward swoop of his stomach.

He didn’t know what to say.

But at the same time, he did.

“Cas.”

Castiel turned around, a joyful smile on his face.

“I want to talk to you.”

His smile widened. “What about?”

Dean took Castiel’s hand. “You and I, and our life together.”

Castiel gave him both hands, smiling so bright.

“I was going to wait, to ask you,” Dean said. “Wait until I’d fixed everything and apologized to you, to give you a chance to forgive me. I screwed up because I let my responsibilities slide, and that wound up hurting you. I was so focused on fixing it for you, just like you did for me - you remember? You made a mistake, you set it right, and then you apologized.”

Castiel nodded.

“Nobody ever did that for me, Cas,” Dean said. “I think I knew then, that I’d never know anyone like you. Never meet anyone with your wide open heart, and your music. You’re gentle and kind and—you’re so beautiful.

“And I want my life to be with you. I want to play on a stage with you. Record, perform, all of it. I want us to live in our house and study together, live together. But you showed me, Cas. You’re here, doing what we needed to do all along, face the problem together.”

Dean got down on one knee - the left - and retrieved the satin box from his pocket.

He remembered the next words. He’d never forget them.

“Castiel Jeremiah Bauer, I love you. I have loved you, I will love you, and I would ask you to honor me and become my husband.”

He opened the box. Inside lay a heavy, silvery band with half a round diamond cut to fit flush against the edge.

Castiel had tears in his eyes. “Oh, Dean. Yes.”

“You don’t mind that I copied your ring?”

“It’s perfect,” Castiel said. “I want it. Give it to me.”

Dean stood up and slipped the ring on Castiel’s finger.

 

Dean had meant to wait until after dessert.

There really was dessert, slices of cheesecake that rested on chocolate ganache and drizzled with gooseberry coulis, plated and waiting next to an ice bucket, with a green swing-topped bottle of sparkling cider inside.

He poured the fizzy, bubbly cider into champagne coupes, took one in each hand, and turned around. Cas was at the piano, and he played the first gentle chords of the Andante movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata no. 19.

Dean smiled as they spun into a gentle music that fizzed like the rising bubbles of cider. “The first sonata.”

“The most beautiful sonata.” Castiel eyed the glasses. “Champagne?”

“Cider from the winesap apples,” Dean said, and Castiel’s eyes lit up. He wound the movement down to take his glass.

Dean led Castiel outside to stand on the balcony, where they perched above the city lights, the breeze clean and cold.

“Too bright for stars,” Dean said.

“We’ll look at stars in Heaven,” Castiel said. “You can see so many.”

“When we can walk out of sight of the houses.”

Castiel leaned into Dean and drank more cider. “Let’s go somewhere we can see the stars.”

“On one of our honeymoons?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, and sipped. “Oh, this is aged. Did Mother give you this bottle?”

“She did.” Dean curled around Castiel’s back. “Will you take my name, Cas?”

“Will you take mine?”

“Castiel and Dean Bauer-Winchester?”

“Dean and Castiel Winchester-Bauer?” Castiel answered, and they laughed.

“Castiel Bauer-Winchester,” Dean said, considering. “It’s kind of a mouthful.”

Castiel sipped his cider again and murmured, “Castiel Jeremiah Winchester. Castiel Winchester.”

Dean shivered and kissed the nape of Castiel’s neck.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, and turned him around in his arms. “Will you take my name?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Dean, yes.”

Dean took Castiel’s empty glass and set it on the patio table before pinning him to the glass window. “Say it again.”

“Castiel Jeremiah Winchester.”

“Cas,” Dean kissed him, met an open mouth, an eager tongue. “You really want that? No hyphen?”

“Everyone will know that I’m yours,” Castiel answered, and Dean groaned into his mouth, pushed him back with grinding hips, and only let up to motion him back inside.

 

Castiel was supposed to beware possessiveness. Was supposed to soothe it into gentler feelings. But Dean in the fire of  _Mine_  stirred Castiel’s blood to a fever, and Castiel couldn’t resist it. He whispered  _yours_  while Dean unfastened his tie, undid his buttons. Dean kissed, bit, and delved into Castiel’s mouth, making him feel that heady bliss that settled on him when he was in Dean’s ropes.

He was on his back, sprawled on the king-sized bed with Dean crouched over him, kissing him dizzy. He should settle Dean, but when he opened his mouth to murmur something soothing, what he said instead was, “Castiel Winchester,” and gasped as Dean hauled him up the bed and turned him over.

Dean pushed Castiel’s legs open wider with his knees, and the full length of his hard flesh glided between his cheeks.

“Do you want that?”

“Dean yes, yes, please Dean.”

“Mine,” Dean said, and cool air swept over his skin as Dean rocked back and lifted Castiel’s hips, raising him to his knees.

Castiel knew what Dean was going to do even before he spread Castiel’s cheeks apart, before his tongue touched Castiel there and he whimpered, pushing back to meet him.

“Greedy,” Dean laughed, and kissed him exactly how Cas wanted it, all lips and pointed, circling tongue. Castiel hung his head and groaned. He loved this.

“Dean, please,” he said. “I want your fingers.”

“Already?” Dean laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want—”

He made a dart of his tongue and pushed deep, and Castiel dropped his head to the mattress and reached back to pull his cheeks apart. “Dean!”

Dean hummed and Cas could feel it all the way along Dean’s tongue. He shivered and squirmed and closed his eyes to feel it, made a protesting whimper when Dean lifted his head and slipped one finger just inside.

“Dean,” Castiel sighed.

“Nice?”

“So nice.” Castiel listened to the scrape of an opening jar and welcomed the cool gel that Dean used to ease the way for two fingers. Castiel rumbled his approval and pushed back to get them deeper, wanting Dean to hook his fingers just right and—

“Yes!” Castiel rocked back and forth on Dean’s hand.

“Love watching you lose it, Cas,” Dean said, and drew his fingers back to Castiel’s protest, chuckled when Cas startled at Dean’s third finger pushing him into something new.

And his body flinched at it, too wide, but only a little and Cas braced himself on the bed and pushed back, hissing as he went a bit too far. The pain was sharp, but over in a flash, and Dean made his fingers ripple, drumming them down in a triplet that made Castiel pop up off the bed and wail.

“Easy,” Dean soothed - soothed him, as if he were the fevered one - “head down, breathe out—”

He twisted his fingers and Cas hit the mattress with a lost groan. He tried to see behind him when Dean slipped away.

“On your side,” Dean said, and spooned up behind him. “Knees high.”

Dean raised Castiel’s leg, and Cas twisted around. He could see Dean this way. He already liked it better. He propped himself up on his elbow and he could reach Dean’s forehead and the bridge of his nose with his lips.

Dean dropped his head and kissed him just below the collarbone. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Cas said, and Dean let go of his leg long enough to line himself up.

“Stay still,” Dean said. “Breathe out.”

Castiel breathed and Dean pushed inside.

Oh.  _Ohh_. He’d said that last one aloud, he knew. Dean held absolutely still and waited for him to get over the shocking stretch and want more.

Castiel had his lower lip between his teeth when he took a deep breath and tried for more, but Dean slid his hips back.

“Be still.”

He said that when Castiel struggled in the ropes and it flew straight to his head. He stilled, and Dean gave him more, slow, easy. It felt so full. Better than Dean’s fingers, rounder. Castiel let Dean take over.

It took control to go so slowly. Castiel watched Dean tremble and keep a hard grip on his urge to move, stilling Castiel’s writhing before it could take hold of him.

“Dean, please.” Castiel reached for him.

“Please what?” Dean asked.

“Please, move in me.”

Dean grinned as Castiel bit his lip and flushed. “Like this?” and gave him a lazy roll of his hips, delighted when Cas gasped and tried to speed the movements.

“Dean, please, go fast. I want—”

“This?” Dean slid back and moved,  _Andante_. Castiel could feel it all through his body. Dean rolled his hips smooth and easy, in exactly the rhythm of his favorite blues songs, the slower ones you felt down in the pit of your stomach, sensual and inviting.

Castiel let his head drop back as Dean took that rhythm and made Cas gasp. “Dean!”

“So perfect, Cas, ohgod,” Dean moaned and sped up. Castiel’s toes curled as Dean’s movements built that pressure Castiel loved, hoarded until he couldn’t carry any more. Cas fell back and reached for his flesh, and if Dean stopped him from that he’d probably beg. The thought touched off a spark in his imagination and he did beg.

“Dean, please, please I want to spend, please let me.”

“You want to come, Cas?”

“Yes!”

“Not till I say,” Dean gasped. “Just hold on, not long, can you wait for me?”

 _Forever._  “Yes.” But he ached to touch himself.

Dean moved.  _Allegro, mezzo-forte_ , and Castiel drew his free knee up higher. Dean pushed the other closer to his shoulder, and his breaths were torn at the edges, noisy with his voice melding with Castiel’s, in harmony, in unison. Castiel wrapped his fingers around his flesh and begged Dean again.

“Do it,” Dean panted. Faster now,  _Vivace, forte_ , and Castiel shuddered out a climax that spattered over his belly and chest.

“Dean, please.”

“Cas, I’m—” his last word got lost. He swelled, pulsed, and filled Castiel’s body with warmth. It was the most—so wonderful, he couldn’t—

“Oh Dean,” Cas whispered.

He could feel Dean’s pulse. His breath, gasping, but smoother, gentler. Dean let go of Castiel’s thigh and drew back, separating them.

“Noo.”

“Have to, Cas.” Dean twisted over and kissed up a drop of his seed. “Oh, mm.”

Dean licked and kissed every drop, bathing Castiel’s chest and abdomen with his tongue. Castiel stroked Dean’s hair, wrapped his arms around him, and let Dean curl over his back, spent and happy.

“Tell me again,” Dean said.

“Castiel Winchester,” Castiel answered.

“I’ll never get tired of that.”


	66. Allemande

Castiel woke up to the gray light of dawn and knew that he couldn’t go back to sleep. This is where his digital piano would have been handy, but Dean wouldn’t hear of getting a room without a piano for Castiel’s morning practice. Digital pianos were the uncanny valley of music, according to Dean.

Dean. He smiled and raised his left hand to look at his ring. He’d caught Dean doing this, and now he understood why. It caught the eye. He wanted to admire it, and remember Dean asking him, and how he was nervous even though he knew Castiel would say yes.

Dean still slept, and if Castiel thought him beautiful awake, in the peace of sleep he was exquisite. He leaned over to kiss his forehead and then slip quietly out of bed.

Cas was sore. He loved it. The hot water drummed over his scalp, his shoulders, and he just stood in it for a while, unwinding.

Dean had his eyes open when Castiel came out of the bathroom in his rumpled hotel robe. “Hi,” he said, and patted the bed. Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed Dean good morning.

“Oh, you’re all minty.”

“Yes.” Castiel kissed him again anyway.

“I should get up and get all minty too, huh?”

“And make me coffee.”

“Demanding.”

“You love it. Are you awake enough for me to practice?”

“Yes. Play me something pretty?”

“Chopin?”

“Yes.”

Castiel played Nocturne no. 1 while Dean made them coffee. The minor key brought a feeling of longing to the simple piece, and to Castiel it felt like waiting for a kiss, holding the anticipation of one, and when it came it made the music stop for an instant and then flutter again.

“Coffee,” Dean said, and held it until Cas got properly away from the piano to drink it.

“I’ll be back,” Dean promised, and disappeared into the bathroom with his suit.

Castiel set his cup down long enough to get into his own clothes, his tie draped over his chest. He turned on his tablet to check the weather when a knock sounded at the door.

“Sam.”

“Hey.” Sam’s eyes dropped to Castiel’s left hand, and Cas held up the hand adorned with Dean’s ring.

“Good,” Sam said. “Congratulations. I heard you got flowers, Cas. Can I have one?”

“Yes, Sam. Sam, you look—”

“Fantastic. Yes. But let me in, I want a boutonniere but I realized that the one I ordered would be better for you. In fact—”

Sam produced a white chrysanthemum framed with two bay leaves. “It’s perfect for you.”

He fastened the little arrangement on Castiel’s lapel and stepped back. “Yes. Bay Laurel is Courage and Victory,” Sam explained. “White Chrysanthemum is truth. It’s right for you.”

“And what of the rose?”

“A red and white rose? Unity. Get Dean to wear one with a bit of that ivy.”

Sam slipped out, leaving Castiel to hunt for something to make the rose and ivy sprig Sam suggested.

 

The water had stopped in the bathroom, so Castiel knocked on the door. “Sam wants you to wear this flower, Dean.”

“Yeah? Be out in a sec.”

Castiel set the blossom down on the keybed and played the trickle of notes that introduced the piano to Beethoven’s first trio. He listened to Dean and Sam’s parts in his head, and kept his playing crisp and lively, played it with cheerful optimism.

Castiel paused for a rest and Dean sang the part that he would play in that silence. Castiel turned his head to flash him a quick smile, but his playing faltered.

Dean tugged his sleeve cuffs down and smiled. “Do I look good?”

Oh, he had to know exactly how he looked.

Dean’s suit was a deep espresso brown, the weave of the cloth making a texture that brought a supple depth to the fabric. The wide notched lapels and narrow spread of the collar pointed to gently rolled shoulders, and the cut of the coat nosed in at the waist with an easy curve. Dean chose a white-collared shirt with light cocoa colored stripes on the shirt’s body, and a buttery soft chocolate tie. The fit was so perfect. The color made the golden sparks in Dean’s eyes shine, the green ring around them deep as the ivy leaves at Castiel’s right hand.

“Dean,” Castiel said. He stood up and brought the rose and ivy bundle he’d tied with a bit of scrap yarn. “You should have gotten dressed earlier. Now we will be late.”

“We’ve got 45 minutes.”

“That’s not enough time, Dean. I want—” He stopped, and nudged Dean’s chin up with his nose. Breathed deep. “I want to take all this off you—very carefully, of course—and take you back to bed.”

“There’s not enough time,” Dean said.

Castiel ran his hand along Dean’s jacket sleeve. The wool-silk blend was velvety under his hands. “Dean. You had to wear a cologne with cocoa in it. I just want to lick you.” His tongue came out then, to trail along Dean’s throat.

“I think we should come back here in summer,” Dean said. “I’ve got a wicked picture in my mind of you bound to one of those iron chairs on the balcony.”

“Dean!”

“You think I wouldn’t do it?” He laughed, low and dark. “Or on the table, that looked pretty sturdy too.”

“Someone could see!” Castiel said, scandalized, but…would whoever caught them give alarm, or quietly watch? His cheeks heated up. “We’d never get away with it.”

“In the middle of the night, we could, but you’d have to be very quiet.”

Castiel laughed. “Then we’d never get away with it.”

They were kissing when Sam knocked on their door again. “We have to check out, so you don’t have time for whatever it is you’re doing in there.”

“We’re already packed,” Dean called back. “Spoilsport,” he muttered, and took one more kiss.

  
  


The Campbell Foundation’s offices weren’t downtown, but west and by the river, in an old industrial building re-purposed for offices with more parking than the space really needed. The lot was half full, but Dean still parked at the far end of the lot.

They carried their instruments inside and rode a service elevator that made the most ominous groan as Sam levered the doors open.

“This thing is going to kill us one day,” Dean muttered, and they stepped into the foyer of the offices of the Campbell Foundation, which took up the entire top floor.

Dean ignored the arrangement of eight leather and chrome chairs set up as a waiting area, and waved at the receptionist, a young man with shaggy hair, heavy black glasses, and a cloudy sky coloured knitted tie.

“Hi,” He said, and the man looked up at the three of them, took in their suits, then blinked and looked again.

“You must be here for the board meeting, Mr. Winchester,” he said, and stood up, shrugging into a fuzzy beige cardigan. “I’m Johnny.”

“Please, call me Dean.” Johnny’s handshake was a good squeeze and shake. Strong hands. “This is my fiancee, Castiel Bauer—”

“Mr. Bauer.”

“Castiel, please.”

“And my brother, Sam.”

“You better call me Sam.”

“That’s one hell of a suit, Sam.”

It was. Sam wore his rose in full bloom on the lapel of his jacket: plum with madder threads in a windowpane check, every line obsessively matched. His shirt was soft creamy yellow with thin gold stripes, worn with a bordeaux paisley tie. The gap between his slim, deeply cuffed tobacco brown trousers and toffee-coloured oxfords revealed bare ankles, and he winked slyly at Johnny when he noticed.

Sam quirked up his lips. “We’re early, aren’t we?”

 

“You’re not just early, the meeting is delayed by thirty minutes. Miss Barnes is going to be late. Her flight from Sydney had a long delay, and she’s barely getting any sleep as it is,” Johnny said. “Would you like coffee, or tea?”

“If I could get some water?”

“Johnny, is Grandma’s concert piano still here?”

“It’s even in tune.”

“We may as well,” Sam said. “We’ve got to kill an hour.”

“Deanna Campbell’s concert piano,” Castiel said. “Let’s work on that trio.”

  
  


They still needed their music, and so set iPads on their stands. Dean tapped out a four count on the restored maple floor and they hit the first chord, Castiel climbing a scale to the next, each one reaching a little higher. They played to the major theme and Castiel handed the melody to Sam, who swayed with the ascending music and gave it back.

Johnny came back with a pitcher of ice water with slices of cucumber and springs of mint and three tall glasses. He set the tray down and stood quietly to listen to them start, stop, and start over.

Dean nodded to him. “Work in progress.”

“It’s interesting. It’s like watching your new video.” He didn’t really mind Johnny, who had the hands and the look of someone who played strings, though Dean bet he played guitar.

“It’s out?” Castiel asked.

“You didn’t know?”

“After the first one, we have all our mobile communications on restricted whitelists,” Castiel said. “We weren’t prepared for the response.”

“Well, you guys playing Hendrix is pretty cool,” Johnny said. “By the time I got to it, there were a couple million hits.”

“When was that?” Dean asked.

“Yesterday.”

“Jess didn’t tell you, Sammy?”

“She told me. You guys were busy getting engaged again.” Sam played Air on a G-string on his violin, swaying dramatically.

Dean was about to tell Sam to cram it when Crowley walked in, hands in pockets like he was just slouching around.

Sam stopped playing and gave the older man a very level, intent stare. Crowley looked back, and nodded.

“Hello, boys.”

“Crowley,” Dean said. “Heard the meeting was pushed back, so we stole a little time to practice.”

“Oh, by all means,” Crowley said. “You’ve kept your relationship as a musical trio, I gather. I wondered if you’d stopped that, when you weren’t on stage for the Love of Music concert.”

“I’m still working on my anxiety around performing before audiences,” Dean said. Screw it. He didn’t care if Crowley knew. It didn’t matter.

“Maybe next year,” Sam said.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting all of you,” Crowley said. “But there’s plenty to eat, and there’s always extra seats, if you really want to sit through the tedium of a board meeting.”

 

He led them past glass-walled offices that were mostly tidy, furnished, but empty and into a conference room big enough to seat 20, furnished with more pitchers of water with cucumber and mint. Thick wooden cutting boards were presented with cheese, cured meats, fruit, and bite-sized pastries, and a coffee service held an urn and teapot. Victor already had a nice selection on a side plate, and Dr. Visyak was taking his advice on which cheeses to sample.

Ellen and Bobby had cups of coffee and small pastries, their heads together over a tablet playing a video.

“Aunt Ellen, Uncle Bobby,” Sam said, and hugged them both. “Oh hey, it’s us.” Sam said, and pulled Ellen’s chair out as she stood up to hug Dean, and Castiel. She whispered something to Cas, who smiled and said, “Thank you.”

“Those are some fancy threads you boys have on,” Bobby said. “Reckon you could have bought a second car for how much they cost.”

Dean laughed. “Don’t remind Cas, he’s still freaking out about it.”

“Suits are a necessary part of being a performing musician,” Castiel said. “Also I outgrew my other one.”

“I heard Pamela had a delayed trip from Sydney?” Sam asked.

“She did, and we’re waiting on her. Called and said she overslept.” Ellen said.

“I don’t blame her,” Dean said.

“How long does it take to fly from Sydney to Chicago?” Castiel asked.

“If you’re lucky and Santa decides you’ve been a good diva this year? You can do it in a day.” Bobby answered.

“Pamela is never a good diva.”

“I heard that, Sam Winchester, and I take exception. I’m a very good diva. Temper fits and all—well come here, give me a hug, tell me why you’re here. Dean too, since he’s our milk carton member.”

Pamela Barnes looked like she just walked out of a silver screen film, dressed in a black silk pantsuit that was more suited to an art gala than a daytime business meeting. She wore a real silver fox stole around her shoulders, and huge, dark sunglasses. “Is there food? I’m starving. Dean honey, since you’re there, will you pour me a cup of that coffee?”

“Still take it black?”

“As my heart,” Pamela agreed.

“Castiel, would you like some coffee?”

“I would, Dean, thank you.”

Dean poured two cups of coffee and stirred in a half-teaspoon of sugar into one. He delivered the undoctored cup to Pamela, who kissed the air next to his ear, and handed the second to Castiel, who took it with an unthinking kiss of thanks.

When Dean looked up, everyone was staring. Except for Crowley, who was appealing heavenward silently.

“Sorry,” Castiel said.

“I guess you’re all wondering why we all showed up today,” Dean said. “Well, we have some explaining to do.”


	67. Concertante

Dean guessed that if Castiel hadn’t kissed him, they would be sitting through the most stultifying material Crowley could find. But that mistake meant that they went to the front of the agenda.

Dean had prepared the slideshow and put it on a thumb drive, and turned on the widescreen digital display on the exposed brick wall on the north end of the room.

He clicked through the first series: 56 filled out forms, the resolution clear enough and the widescreen big enough for them to be legible.

“As you may all remember, last year in February we listened to a series of one minute long anonymous audition recordings to begin the first selection of the foundation’s second Campbell Scholar. These are the information cards that came with each coded recording. There was no identifying information on them, no way to tell the sex, age, colour, creed, or ability of the applicant.

Dean clicked to the last slide. “Here’s the recording code I selected as my initial choice. To this day, I still don’t know who this person is. I never bothered to check. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Castiel Bauer, and I might even be able to tell you if I heard the recording again, since I’ve gotten to know his musical style since.”

Sam, Castiel, Ellen, and Bobby smirked. So did Pamela..

“I wasn’t on the selection committee, and the other chance I had to have a voice in who was chosen, well, I ditched that meeting, to do this—”

Dean clicked to a slide of himself dressed as Wesley Crusher standing on one side of Wil Wheaton, with Charlie Bradbury dressed as Beverly Crusher on the other. They all held up their hands in the “Live long and prosper” Vulcan hand sign.

Pamela and Victor laughed. Dr. Visyak frowned.

"This is exactly what I was doing when the board was deciding on Castiel Bauer for the Campbell Scholar: In Seattle with my best friend,"  he said. "Any questions?"

“I think we have the gist of it, boy,” Bobby said. “Get on.”

“Okay,” Dean said, and drank some water to keep his throat wet and remember what came next. Castiel smiled and nodded at him, listening quietly.

“My brother Sam went to Juilliard to study violin there instead of locally,” Dean set his water glass down. “I was alone in a big house and I advertised a room to let at residence rates for a music student. Castiel called me, I met him, and I decided that he would make a good housemate. I did know that he was the Campbell Scholar, but I didn’t think anything of it.”

“And then you got involved,” Victor said.

“You didn’t plan it, it just happened,” Pamela nodded.

“Yes, Sir. That’s right, Pamela. And I didn’t think of the larger repercussions, because I didn’t think there were any.”

Crowley swiveled his chair. “But there are.”

“You’re right,” Dean agreed. “But it’s too late. It was more than just an attraction. We’re going to get married.”

“Already?” Dr. Visyak asked.  

“Yes,” Dean said. “It’s been about five months.”

“That’s a long time to carry on an affair without taking any action to clear your ethics, Mr. Winchester.”

“It is, Dr. Visyak, and I make heartfelt apologies. It was careless and irresponsible. And it’s a clear conflict of interest, so I have to resign my position on the board.”

Eleanor nodded, but still looked disapproving. Rufus scoffed. Pamela raised her eyebrows.

“I can’t see what else you could do, Dean,” Ellen said. “I’d hoped you’d ease your way into it, though.”

“There’s still the issue of the two of you getting involved while you were a member of the board.” Crowley said. “I had hoped that this could be solved quietly.”

“We’re at minimum members as it is, boy,” Bobby said.

“Which is why Sam has agreed to take my place and assume my duties until you find someone to replace him.”

Sam waved. “I’m the same age Dean was when he joined the board back when it first started, but I think I’ll do a better job. I’ll show up to more meetings, I’m already in touch with most of you, and if I have to miss a day of school to make a Monday or a Friday meeting, I can handle it.”

Dean nodded. “And we can say publicly that I resigned my position on the board because I’m returning to Lakeside as a student. Which would be a conflict of interest in itself. I can continue to be one of the faces of the Campbell legacy. We can write a nice thing about how I’m stepping down to pursue my love of music, a personal message about my experience with anxiety, all that.”

He knew he had Ellen and Bobby, there was no question there. Pamela looked amused, Dr. Visyak disapproving, and Victor thoughtful.

“So, Dean steps down, Sam steps up, we all eat all the baklava and discuss sponsoring K-12 students in donations of pianos and the maintenance fund,” Bobby  said. “Works for me. Let’s get on with it.”

“One moment,” Crowley held up a hand. “There’s more to discuss than that. Dean’s come up with a convincing, if thin story that will cover over part of this scandal with a minimum of fuss. But there’s something we’re overlooking.”

“What are we overlooking?”

“Castiel Bauer’s moral conduct,” Crowley said. “Or I should say, immoral conduct. The Campbell scholarship has a morality clause, and Mr. Bauer is in clear violation of it. He has to be removed as the Campbell scholar.”

“The hell you say,” Dean said. “That’s not on the table. Cas didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well from certain perspectives, Mr. Bauer did everything right,” Crowley said. “A young man from rural America, living as a subsistence farmer in a backwards religious cult managing to win the heart of a handsome, single, influential millionaire? Oh no, Some would say that Castiel Bauer shot for the moon and made a direct hit.”

“It was a coincidence!” Dean growled.

“Oh, I believe you,” Crowley looked skyward. “Millions wouldn’t, and they won’t, once they hear the story.”

“Once you feed it to them.” Dean wanted to get up and drag Crowley across the table by that hand-woven black silk tie. He had to get a grip. Who could believe that about Cas?

“You can say that it’s a coincidence, but that flies in the face of what Mr. Bauer did once he didn’t live with you.”

Dean scowled at him. “What, head back to the farm to help cows give birth?”

“I mean the fact that he didn’t waste any time picking up a new friend,” Crowley said, swiping over the screen of his all black tablet. “Check your e-mail.”

Dean tapped on the new message and found a photo of Castiel and Aaron, drinking a post workout shake. Castiel had his hand on Aaron’s arm, leaning in as Aaron talked.

He swiped the next photo, which was shot through the window of Castiel’s apartment. Aaron and Castiel were standing twined together, kissing.

“That’s Castiel cosying up to Aaron Bass, eldest son and heir to his family’s prestigious architecture firm.”

Dean closed the photo viewer and shook his head. “You had him on stalker surveillance? Real classy, Crowley.”

“I was following up on the interests of the foundation. I didn’t expect to see this. It seems Mr. Bauer has wealthy taste in … friends.”

“It’s not like that,” Castiel said. “Aaron is my friend. We work out together.” He sounded very small. “It’s not like that,” he repeated, looking around the table for a friendly face.

Crowley gave Cas a bland look, and Dean wanted to punch it off. He was hurting Cas with this. And for what? Trying to save face for interfering?

“Lovely suit, Castiel. Looks like Tom Ford, am I right? I’d like to know where the son of a farmer gets the money for a six thousand dollar suit and all the trimmings. The scholarship is awarded to applicants in financial need.”

“Leave him alone,” Dean said. “You will not say another disrespectful, ugly word about Cas. Ever again. You can quit twisting this to make Cas out to be some kind of gold digger. He didn’t have anything to do with this. He didn’t know about my place on the board or my money. He didn’t know about Aaron either, I bet, because Cas doesn’t concern himself with that stuff.”

The others looked angry, or doubtful, or scornful, especially Dr. Visyak.

“It does look bad, Dean,” Victor said.

“It’s ridiculous,” Bobby groused. “Castiel is the nicest young man I’ve ever met.”

“And he engaged in a sexual relationship with a man on the board of the foundation.”

“You had better not be bringing same sex relationships up as justification for removing him,” Ellen said.

“Yeah, that’s explicitly no bar to winning the scholarship. Deanna made that iron-clad,” Pamela said.

“I didn’t intend to imply that,” Crowley said. “My apologies. I only mean to say that regardless of why, Mr. Bauer does have unfair influence on this board.”

“Okay, I’m all finished,” Dean said. “I’m sure you have worked really hard on the campaign you’re about to launch, nice move with the stalker photos. Not that it’s any of your business, but I know Aaron Bass, and we have socialized together. What you’re saying here isn’t true.”

“It’s still a concern, and I’m afraid that we’ll have to exclude you from voting on it.”

“No vote,” Dean says. “Cas stays.”

“Contrary to your charming view of the world, you have no power to demand that, no matter whose grandchild you were.”

“Actually,” Sam said, “he does.”

“He does,” Ellen agreed.

“He does,” Pamela repeated.

“He can’t. It’d have to be a lead trust.”

“It is a lead trust, Crowley. Dean just lets us run it as if it were a remainder trust.”

“It can’t be,” Crowley said. “I’ve spent piles of money without ever having to get an approval.”

“Because I trust you and the board,” Dean said. “I’d just get in the way. You all do a better job than I do. Sam will do a better job than I do. I’m just the face. I don’t need to be on the board to be the face.”

“Sam, what’s that mean?” Castiel asked.

“A remainder trust means they control all the money in the trust that runs the charity,” Sam said quietly. “Lead means we do. Or I should say, Dean does.”

“Cas stays. Replace Sam if you want to at a board election, but for now he takes my spot. We’re running with ‘I quit the foundation to pursue my musical education,’ we’ll fund some seminars on facing performance anxiety, and then we will announce my marriage like the fucking sappy chick-flick love story that it is, complete with me looking completely goofy over my husband, Castiel Winchester. Understood? Good. Any more questions?”

“That’s my favorite Dean, Cas,” Sam whispered. “Nobody fucks with Dean’s family, and that’s why.”

Dean smiled grimly. Sam was right: Nobody fucks with Dean’s family.

“Only one,” Crowley said. “Will handing in my resignation for Monday be soon enough?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Dean said. “You may be a dick, and I’m really pissed at you but you were added because you are good at what you do. I read the reports.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Some of them. I know what you’ve managed to accomplish and I know you care about the foundation. My dislike of you doesn’t change that. If you can stay, good. If you feel you have to resign, I’ll accept it. But I’d rather you were here.”

Crowley stared at him.

“Don’t answer me now,” Dean said. “Take some time to think about it. Sam.”

“Dean.”

“Call me when you’re done? I’m going to take Cas for lunch.”

Dean stood up, but Castiel put a hand up and said, “Wait.”

Everyone stopped and turned to Castiel.

“Crowley’s right,” Castiel said. “I shouldn’t be the Campbell Scholar.”

****


	68. Leggero

“Cas, you deserve to be the Campbell Scholar,” Dean said. “You can’t let all that…hurtful stuff get under your skin. It’s just spin, nasty spin.” Dean shot Crowley a dirty look, but he didn’t respond in kind.

“Kid, you are good,” Ellen said. “You’re dedicated, you never stop working. Your merit is absolutely not in question from me.”

“Thank you, Ellen,” Castiel said. “I appreciate it. But the fact remains.”

“I know a thing or two about piano, Mr. Bauer. I trained in classical before moving on to Jazz and music production. You’re qualified to be the Campbell Scholar.”

“But that’s just it, Mr. Henriksen,” Castiel said. “I’m not qualified any more.”

“Nothing has changed, Cas,” Dean said.

“Actually…” Sam said, quietly. “I think I know what Cas means.”

“You do?”

Sam nodded. “Tell them.”

Cas sat up a little straighter. “Crowley was right. Candidates for the Campbell Scholarship demonstrate financial need,” Castiel said. “I don’t qualify. At least, I won’t, after Dean and I get married this summer.”

Ellen and Bobby nodded thoughtfully. Dr. Visyak gave a sharp nod of agreement

“I can’t attend school on a scholarship when I’m getting used to five thousand dollar suits, and pretending I don’t have means — are you really a millionaire, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean patted Castiel’s hand. “Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Crowley looked at Castiel with curiosity, as if he’d only just noticed something that changed Castiel’s entire character.

“But why didn’t you?” Cas asked.

Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s. “I tend to push things away if I don't feel like I can do anything about them.”

“Does he ever,” Sam grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “Grandma’s estate was kind of a bombshell, and I wasn’t really prepared for the load. I didn’t tell anyone what was going on, and I walked away from my first board meeting thinking, ‘I’ll never figure this out.’ So I just let everybody else do it.”

“I understand,” Castiel said. “But now it means I can’t use the scholarship.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Castiel said. “I’m grateful. Winning the scholarship made me determined to do well. I got through classes that would have crippled me with doubt if I hadn’t had the Campbell Foundation behind me. But there’s someone out there who could really use the Campbell Foundation behind them.”

The board was quiet, and then Pamela said, “You’ve got a lot of heart, kid.”

“Dean, I did make an assumption, but both you and Sam have offered to pay my tuition.”

“I did and I will,” Dean said. “Sam, did you offer to pay for Cas’s schooling?”

“Sure did. Wanna split it?”

Dean smiled at his little brother. “I think I’m good.”

“Do you have enough time to select a new scholar for next year? I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “We really should have done this sooner.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Dr. Visyak said. “We can award financial bursaries quickly enough. That’s what we did for the first two years. Sam, I have a feeling that you’ll still be with us by the time we need a new selection committee. Can you go over the process? There were a few things I thought we’d have more time to discuss—”

“Sorry,” Castiel said again.

“None of that, Mr. Bauer. Morality doesn’t happen without context.” Dr. Visyak finally had a smile for someone, and gave it to Castiel. “You’ve acquitted yourself admirably, and I agree that you shouldn’t be our scholarship student next year.”

“I agree. We can come up with a nice story to explain why you stepped down,” Crowley said. “Mr. Winchester’s angle about love is perfect. Prepare to be interviewed, both of you.”

“Let’s take a break,” Pamela said. “We have a lot to get through before I have to go back on tour. Dean, sweetie, we’ll send you a report.”

  
  


They stopped in the lobby long enough to bring Johnny a plate full of treats from the cheese board, but Crowley caught up with them.

“Mr. Winchester.”

“Now after all we’ve been through together, you better call me Dean,” Dean said.

“Dean. A word?” Crowley asked, and led them to the largest office.

“This should probably be your office.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said. “I’m never here. You’re not going to quit on me now, Crowley?”

“I got everything I wanted,” Crowley said. “You aren’t on the board, Castiel’s not our scholarship student. I’m about to go back in there and present the exchange program that King’s College wants to fund in partnership with the Campbell Foundation. On paper, I won.”

“You were right, Sir,” Castiel said. “That’s why I did as you suggested at first, because you were right. What we were doing was unethical and it needed to stop.”

“I was working with incomplete information. But if I’d known, I would have been a lot more vicious about it.”

Dean blinked. “Sorry?”

Crowley sat down on the desk. “I like order, Dean. I like charity trust management, because they have a better cause than ‘make our shareholders rich at any cost.’ If I’d realized that this was a lead trust, and what’s worse, a lead trust controlled by you, the bane of my work here, I would have jumped ship after doing what I could to destroy the foundation.”

“And now?”

“Now? If I knew you from when you were a pup, I’d probably be like the rest of your extended family in there. But in actuality I’m going to drag you into the Foundation kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“Crowley—”

“Not as a board member,” Crowley said. “But you have a right to understand all we do here, and it’s my responsibility as your executive manager to make sure that you know that. Nobody taught you this, Dean. I can’t be angry at you being an amateur when you don’t know what holding a charitable trust means.”

“Just to understand what’s going on,” Dean said.

“Which means we will be spending more time together than you may have planned for. Let Johnny know what you like in the way of office snacks.”

“How about I call you in a couple of weeks.”

“I await your pleasure,” Crowley said.

  
  


They went to a quiet chop house to eat lunch and linger over tall rounded glasses of beer. Castiel ordered a salad that Sam would have stolen if he’d been there, asked for a small portion of lean chicken breast, and ate it contentedly while Dean ordered a lobster tail and scallop plate.

“Maybe we should check back into a hotel tonight,” Dean said. “I’ll see what Charlie’s up to and get into trouble with her.”

“Yes to seeing Charlie, but can we go home? I called Mother and told her that I would be bringing you and maybe Sam to Sunday dinner, and I want our room. Our bed. Even if we’re so tired we just fall into it with our clothes on.”

“As you wish,” Dean said, and Castiel smiled at him. He’d seen The Princess Bride.

  
  


Sam called them after about two hours. “Come get me. We going home?”

“Thought maybe we should visit Charlie,” Dean said. “Find out how her thing about handling fan response for Video 2 is going.”

“Okay but I’m gonna need the car,” Sam said. “Tomorrow. I’m coming back to go with Jess to a museum.”

“That’s fine. Cas and I will spend a noisy afternoon at home.”

“Oh stop,” Sam said. “Call Charlie and come get me.”

  
  


Castiel held Dean’s phone, set on speaker, and waited for Charlie to pick it up.

“Dean! Timing, it is excellent. Do you have an hour for this?” Charlie turned her music down, and the sound of Ms. Pac Man getting eaten by ghosts sounded in the background.

“Actually we’re in town,” Dean said, and changed lanes. “We thought we’d drop in if that’s okay.”

“You’re all three of you here?” Charlie asked. “Good. My accountant is ready to march out to Lakeside to get your signatures.”

“What does he need that for?”

“Just get here and bring your pens.”

 

Sunshine Studios was busy with people who managed to never look like they were actually working. Charlie waited for them in the reception area, and dragged them off to another boardroom, this one all black leather and shiny chrome and LCD pinpoint lamps shining little spotlights over each seat.

“Be seated,” Charlie said. “These are the contracts Accounting needs in order to start paying you guys.”

“Paying us?”

“Revenue from advertising on various video sites, and your money from the iTunes and Google Play stores,” Charlie said.

“How much?” Dean asked.

“Well you can probably pay off your credit card after the shopping and engagement ring spree you obviously went on,” Charlie said. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Dean,” Castiel said wonderingly. “Is that enough money to pay for my tuition next year?”

“It is, but I won’t hear of it,” Dean patted Castiel’s left hand. “Stick it in your bank account. Buy me lunch. I’ll hand in the paper to my accountant.”

“And. Um. I’ve been handling media inquiries.”

Sam grinned. “Media inquiries.”

“Yeah. Do you guys want to be on Gabriel? Dean? Can you handle about 400 people in the audience? I know it’s a lot, but he’d love to have you.”

“Does he want us to play, or talk?”

“Maybe…” Charlie hunched her shoulders up high and gave her  _don’t kill me, I’m cute_ face. “Both?”

“I’m supposed to be back in class.”

“Me too,” Castiel said. “But I would like to. Sam?”

“I think if we can, we should. Dean?”

“Oh boy,” Dean said.

“We don’t have to,” Castiel said. “Dean. We don’t.”

“Or we could have a crew film us in,” Sam said. “If we explain about your stage thing.”

“No,” Dean swallowed and looked at Sam. He nodded and took Cas’s hand. “Call them back. We’ll do it.”

  
  


Dean had put on a good face all the way home, through a quick meal of soup and sandwiches, and Sam taking the car to drive back in the city to meet Jess. He waited until Sam had eased Baby out of her spot just in front of the house and the turned around to look at Cas, who was loading the dishwasher.

“Why did I say we’d do it,” Dean said. “Why.”

“Did you say it because you didn’t want to let us down?” Castiel asked. “We could still ask them to bring a film crew.”

“No. I saw it in my mind. We’re there. That’s what feels right, only it makes me want to—”

“The panic comes back,” Castiel said. “Dean, you were talking about funding to help musicians with performance anxieties. Did you ever think of doing that too?”

“I keep thinking I should handle it myself,” Dean said. “That I should be able to take care of it.”

“Because that’s what you do,” Castiel said. “You take care of things. And people. But who takes care of you?”

“You.”

“I’d like to.”

“Take care of me, Cas,” Dean said. “I want you to.”

  
  
  



	69. Metamorphosis

They raced upstairs, but Dean halted on the edge of the threshold, letting Castiel walk through first. He followed after, and stopped right at the center of the space at the foot of their bed.

Dean stood still while Castiel unrolled the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned his waistcoat. Dean usually undressed Cas, and his fingers twitched to be the one doing that. But Cas was taking care of him.

“I want to tie your arms, Dean,” Castiel said. “I’d like them behind your back, but still comfortable. Bent at the elbows. Will you let me tie you like that?”

“Yes,” Dean said. It was a good tie. He’d help Cas if he forgot a step or wasn’t sure what to do next.

“And I’d like to—” he busied himself with unraveling Dean’s tie, Dean’s collar button, and had made it to Dean’s second shirt button before he said, “have sexual congress with you. I will have to be careful.”

“Yes, Cas.”  

“Tell me your safeword.”

“Air Supply.”

“Are you calling it out?”

“No way,” Dean said, and they both laughed.

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes. Dean tried smiling, but he still felt edgy and sharp with worry. It faltered under Castiel’s intent gaze.

“Dean. You’re not ready yet.”

“I will be.”

“You will.”

  
  


Castiel didn’t get a single wrap, knot, or hitch wrong, and he helped Dean get on his knees in the sheepskin that bordered the floor around the bed. “All right. Close your eyes.”

Dean closed them, and Castiel’s fingers were in his hair, circling and massaging. Dean groaned. “That feels. So good, Cas.”

“Said I’d take care of you.” Castiel bent and kissed the top of Dean’s head. “You’re still not here with me. What’s still lingering in your mind?”

“I’m still worried about not being able to do it.”

“Perform, or let go for me?”

The question startled him into saying, “Both.”

“Okay. Keep your eyes closed, and listen.” Cas’s fingers in his hair were perfect. He relaxed and let the ropes do the work of holding his arms in place, let Cas’s bonds take care of it.

“Listen. Tell me five things you can hear.”

“Your breath,” Dean said. “The radiator, creaking.” He fell silent, really searched for something. “Traffic outside. The neighbor kid’s music, behind us. The wind.”

He felt better. Castiel’s fingers slid down to his neck and Dean bowed his head, let it fall limp and heavy in Castiel’s hands as he stretched the muscles and tendons. His hands were so strong.

“So much tension in your neck,” Castiel murmured. “Shoulders okay?” He kneaded them, pressed his fingers into the muscles like they were piano keys.

“Yeah. That feels so good.”

Castiel checked on Dean’s hands, pressed his fingers to watch the blood flow. “Good. Tell me five things you can smell.”

“Rope,” Dean says automatically. “Grassy hemp rope. Leather - you’ve got the leather drawer open.” He turned to look, but Castiel’s hand came up and shielded his eyes.

“Concentrate on just the one sense.”

“Right. Now your cologne. The one I bought you for Christmas. Sheepskin.” He took a deep breath. “Clean sheets. Cas. How’d you learn how to do this.”

“We had a group discussion about anxiety in my psychology class, and someone shared how they dealt with panic attacks.”

“It’s working.”

“Good,” Castiel said. “Do you need to see?”

“No, I know where I am.”

The smell of leather came closer. “Then may I blindfold you?”

“Yes, Cas.”

The padded satin-lined blindfold settled over his eyes, and Castiel buckled it into place. “If you want that off, just ask.”

“Okay.” Dean felt floaty, but so present. “I feel my weight on my knees,” Dean said. “I feel the ropes around my chest, tighter when I breathe. The blindfold on my face. You. Your hand is just over my shoulder. I can feel the heat in the air.”

Castiel let his hand fall, and Dean had been right. He smiled and felt like he’d given a good answer to a test.

“So good,” Cas praised. “Knowing what I want before I ask. What else do you feel, Dean?”

“I’m tingling,” Dean said. “Not like I’ve gone numb. The good kind that runs over your head and down your back. They feel good. They only come sometimes.”

“When do they come?”

“Emotional moments in movies,” Dean said. “Really beautiful music, when I’m listening to it. When I—”

Light fingers skimmed over his clavicles, nails grazed up his throat. The touch spread, rippled, gathered in the center of his chest.

“When I feel loved,” Dean said.

 

Dean wasn’t used to being picked up, but Castiel got him to his feet and let him work out the ache in his knees.

“Shoulders still okay?” Castiel asked, steering him off the sheepskin under his feet and around, stopping when Dean’s feet touched the warm, soft fleece again.

“They’re good.”

Castiel turned Dean around and let him find the edge of the bed. “On your knees, nice and wide apart,” and Dean found a pillow to rest on, relieving some of the arch on his back.

He could stay like this for a while. He was still in his head, still trying to keep an eye on things.

_Stop. Let him. He’s doing good. So good._

“You look…very appealing like this, Dean,” Castiel said, punctuated by the thump of something metal landing on the floor, and then sliding away.

Castiel’s belt buckle, Dean guessed. Cas was taking off his clothes. A soft pair of clinks to the right - his cuff links. Dean strained his ears for every sound, listened to the creak in the floor as Castiel walked over to hang his and Dean’s clothes neatly, the clatter of wooden hangers, the floor creaks back-

Castiel’s hands on him as he knelt down, pushing his cheeks apart. “Very appealing.”

Castiel let his fingers drift and graze down the base of Dean’s cock, and Dean’s awareness of his position widened. He was spread open with his ass in the air and it made his stomach do a slow roll as his arousal cranked a little tighter, tuned a little sharper.

“Cas…oh, fuck.” Whatever he was going to tell Cas flew from his mind as Castiel pulled his cock down and licked, kissed, and suckled until Dean was gasping. “Cas, it’s—”

“Too much?” Castiel asked. He sounded sympathetic. The  _liar._  His tongue curled around one of Dean’s balls and slurped it into his mouth, and fuck but Dean loved that. Cas led with his fingers, trailing up the base of his cock and over—

Dean shivered. “Cas, are you—? Cas, you’re—”

He was. Oh fuck, he was, leaving a wet trail of kisses up higher and higher. He had a double handful of Dean’s ass in his grip and he pushed up and apart and he didn’t tease Dean, didn’t hesitate even for half a breath. Lips fastened over his hole and Castiel gave him wet tonguing kisses and Dean tried to keep himself from falling as everything spun around in dizzy bliss.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was the first time he felt completely free to  _love_  it. Dean pushed back into Castiel’s mouth and hoped no one outside could hear him moaning. He turned his face into the mattress to muffle his noise, and felt the shocking jolt of Castiel swatting his butt. No.

Dean turned his face to the side and tried to stay quiet. He had to, what if someone could hear him over the neighbor’s music, even through the closed windows. He tried to stay quiet but he whimpered anyway, through clenched teeth and lips clamped shut.

Cas grazed his teeth over Dean’s thin, sensitive skin, and Dean yelped. Cas pressed his tongue down in a point, and—

“Yes, please, please, Cas  _please_ —”

Cas didn’t stop to ask him please what. He opened his mouth wide and slid his writhing tongue deeper, drew back to make Dean quiver to more wet kisses, and the gentle scrape of his teeth had Dean pushing back against his mouth and brainfuzzed. Lost. Fallen right out of control and watching and monitoring, with room for nothing but  _more, please Cas_ , and the aching hollow need that swelled deep in him, the euphoria that slipped over him like a satin blanket.

Castiel lifted his head. Dean felt like he could breathe again. He wanted to weep. He could do anything, anything Cas wanted, and Cas would want the most perfect things of him, he knew it. He was ready to beg for every single one.

He heard the scrape of a drawer opening, and the scent of leather rose from it. Oh God, the paddles were in there. Cas was going to make his ass pink and hot and the idea struck him with such force he struggled and mewled “please Cas, please,” while his hands grasped at nothing.

“Be still,” Castiel said, quiet and soft.

Dean subsided, relaxed into stillness. He was so hard, felt so open. He could do anything. Anything Cas wanted. He was perfectly still.

Cas’s fingers touched the tip of Dean’s cock, spread slick fluid from the tip over the head, and cruelly, mercifully moved away. Something tight wrapped around the base of his cock and balls, and the pressure throbbed in the head of Dean’s cock. He knew what it was. Cas wasn’t going to let him come, not until Cas wanted him to, not until Cas pulled the strap free.

Castiel moved away and cold air rushed to all the places their skin had touched. Dean tried to put his hands under him, couldn’t, and he fought the rope until Castiel’s hands came back to pet him into quieting. Castiel bent down to kiss him open again, but his pleased hum didn’t mask the sounds of a jar being opened.

Dean welcomed the cool slickness of Castiel’s fingers. He nearly sobbed in relief when Castiel slid one finger in all the way, drew back, and tried again with two. Dean was ready, already.

“Please Cas I want it, please—”

“I know you do,”Cas soothed. “Tell me when it feels really good.”

“It already—fuck fuck fuck fuck Cas more  _more_ ,” Dean begged as Castiel found the right spot with strong, curved fingers and rubbed. Dean tried to scrape the blindfold off, bucked against Castiel’s hand, and tried to get loose from the ropes again. They still held him tight but fighting them made it better. Dean wiggled to get his knees farther apart and groaned.

“Cas, please!” Dean begged.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me, please.”

Castiel was on his feet before Dean said please a second time, and Dean bit back a grateful sob.

“I’m not going to last,” Castiel said. “You are so amazing.”

“I don’t care. I just need you. Please.”

Gentle hands unfastened his bonds, and Dean put shuddering, numb arms under him, too weak and sore to hold his weight. The blindfold came off, and Dean managed to get his elbows levered under him.

Castiel reached under them and pulled the strap free. “You are beautiful like this,” Castiel said, and the praise rolled over Dean as Cas pressed gently inside him. Dean gasped and hissed and Castiel stilled, but didn’t pull away.

“All right?”

“Yes. Please don’t stop.”

Cas had slicked himself up and moved so slowly - deeper, then back, sighing with every new fraction of an inch gained. “So perfect. You’re hot inside.”

Even after Cas had eased every bit of him inside he stayed in a slow tempo, wracking Dean with shivers and jolts until he begged Cas for more.

And Cas kept up the praise. “Watching you struggle in ropes is mesmerizing. You are so good. I love taking care of you. You are exquisite.” He moved faster and faster, until he was fucking Dean hard, fast, his hands caught in the notch of Dean’s hips and half lifting him to meet his frantically thrusting cock, deep and perfect.

“I can’t—Dean, I—” Castiel slumped over his back. Dean felt each pulse, punctuated by heat that bloomed inside him. “Dean,” Castiel sighed.

That was enough. “I’m going to—”

If Castiel wanted to stop him, it was too late. But Castiel stroked his back, kissed behind his ear, and crooned beautiful words into Dean’s ear as he flooded Cas's left hand.  _Marvelous_  and  _Splendid_ and  _Good_ , that everything he did was magical, that Castiel was awed by him every day. Dean listened, greedy for every sweet word that fell in his ear.

He wasn’t crying. It was just endorphins. But Castiel kissed him, held him tight and warm, cuddled him up until he came back to earth in a tangle of loose rope and crumpled bedding. He let out a long breath and raised his head.

Castiel had been watching him. He smiled, and Dean smiled back. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Cas, you’re awesome.”

Castiel laughed. “I love you, too.”


	70. Finale

They slept, after Dean wiggled the hemp line out from under him: slept face to face, with Castiel’s arms around him, Dean’s leg thrown over Cas’s, his head on Castiel’s broad shoulder. They woke up to Dean’s phone playing Katrina and the Waves at top volume, and Dean had to get out of bed to retrieve his phone from his jacket pocket.

“Charlie,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re on speaker.”

“I woke you up.”

“You wouldn’t have if it wasn’t Saturday, don’t worry.”

“Is Castiel up too?”

“Good morning, Charlie,” Castiel said.

“Morning Castiel,” Charlie said. “Is Sam up?”

“He might be, hang on.” Dean scooped up a pair of flannel pajama pants and got into them. “You want to talk to all of us?”

“Yeah, that would be easiest.”

“Sam’s going to complain nonstop until I get some coffee into him. Can I call you back after we’ve civilized ourselves?”

“Sure. About an hour?”

“Sounds right.”

****  
  


They shared a shower, which didn’t necessarily save time, but Dean was smiling when he stepped out of the bathroom with damp hair and a towel around his waist. He dressed in his favorite AC-DC t-shirt, red plaid flannel shirt, and the jeans with holey knees that he usually saved for laundry day. He got downstairs and got his greens in the juicer, and waited for Sam to grumble his way down the stairs to complain about the noise, the “gross” color, and grumpily pour hot water over perfect coffee grounds.

Cas followed downstairs, but instead of coming over to get a good morning kiss and disappear into the music room, he carried one of Dean’s new shirts and ties with him and laid them over the back of one of the tall chairs at the breakfast bar.

“What’s that for?”

“I want you to teach me how to tie your ties,” Castiel said. “I need to know how to do that.”

“What for?”

“For your performance days.”

Dean walked around the range island and wrapped his arms around Cas. Kissed him, Nuzzled his throat, and looked up when he heard Baby grumble up to the house and fall silent.

“Well,” Dean said, but he didn’t let go of Castiel. “Walk of shame, huh Sammy?”

“Oh, you’re up—” Sam walked into the room and abruptly turned his back, flinging his hands in the air. “And come on, what did I say about kitchen moments?”

“Bite me, Sammy.”

“Good morning, Sam. You’re home late, and early.”

“Morning Cas. I hope you’re hungry.”

“I can eat. Why?”

“I’m making the pancakes. Cinnamon pancakes. I need the practice.”

****  
  


Dean called Charlie back when they were settled in with post-breakfast coffee.

“As it turned out Sam hadn’t actually made it home when you called,” Dean said. “But we’re all here.”

“Okay. So I sent an email saying that you three would be willing to do a number and an interview with Gabriel, and I pretty much got one back asking if you would be willing to do it on Monday.” Hi

“Monday?”

“Monday.”

“Monday’s okay for me,” Sam said. “Cas will miss school. Dean?”

“Monday. They sure don’t want to give a guy some notice,” Dean said.

“Dean, you can still say no.”

“No way,” Dean said. “We’re doing this.”

“How big of an audience?” Sam asked.

“Gabriel’s studio only seats about 300 people.”

“You still want to say yes?”

“It’s taped, right?”

“You’ll be able to go to your hotel and turn on the TV. They actually film the show at about 9,” Charlie said. “But if it’s too soon…”

“Cas,” Dean said. “Can you help?”

“I will,” Castiel promised.

****  
  


Sam flew back to New York on Sunday afternoon and left Cas alone to deal with Dean, who spent the time compulsively making the perfect packing list and tending the same details over and over.

Castiel came to him with a long coil of rope and made him stop. “Time to take a break.”

Dean eyed the line. “Is that for you or for me?”

“For me. Please tie me, Dean.”

****  
  


“You going to be okay?” Dean asked. Castiel was holding his hand - no, crushing his hand as the jet taxied out to the runway.

“I’ve never done this,” Castiel said.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But flying is fine. You’ll fly a lot. We’re going to go all over the world to play music.”

“We will, won’t we?” Castiel asked, wondering.

“We will.”

****  
  


The hotel Gabriel’s show had chosen wasn’t what Dean would have gone for, but when he called and requested a suite with a piano, they had one, and he winced when he heard the price. But he agreed, and their host met them at the front door, securing their check in as they walked to a brass doored elevator and traveled up to the room, where they had a hundred and fifty six minutes to get their shit together and get out to the studio and play in front of 300 people.

“Dean. The people don’t matter.”

“But there are hundreds.”

“Dean. The people don’t matter. Don’t play for them. Play for us.”

“You and Sammy.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yeah. I can. You and Sammy.”

****  
  


“I can’t do this, Cas. I can’t. Listen to them.”

The audience was a low roar of voices and laughter, gathered and talking together. They sat in a comfortable room near the stage entrance. Dean’s cello and Sam’s violin were out there, but Dean was prepared to abandon them and go running into the night.

They had ten minutes.

“Come with me,” Castiel said, getting to his feet. He dragged Dean towards a bathroom, and locked the door behind them.

“Cas, a quickie’s not going to help—”

“Dean, be quiet,” Castiel said. “Take off your shirt. Drop your pants.” He retrieved the sock he was working on, cut the line, and pulled a long length of wool yarn from the bag he kept to hold his sock of the moment.

Dean had his tie off, his linen trousers down, and was working on his fourth button. “Why?”

“I’m going to bind you,” Castiel said, and tied the yarn in a figure 8 knot just above and below his heart, solar plexus, before and after his navel. The wool prickled on his skin as Castiel wrapped yarn around his body, yarn that Castiel had spun himself and spread his touch all around Dean, holding him close and safe.

He bent and kissed Dean in the diamond that exposed his breastbone. “Is that better?”

“Yes.” It was. He could feel the yarn denting his skin just slightly, shifting or restricting his movements.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Guys, five minutes.”

“Thank you!” They called out together.

Dean held out his tie ends. “Will you tie it for me?”

Castiel smiled. “Of course, Dean.”

****  
  


Once they were introduced, Dean watched Castiel and not Sam’s tropical leaf print trousers. Or his pale leaf green dotted shirt. Or the wide emerald green and white dotted tie. Sam was the lead dog on performances, and he jumped at the chance to wear something that was noisy and exuberant. Dean knew that the expertly tailored white jacket had pants to match, but Sam…was Sam.

Castiel looked great. Dean was biased. But his silvery gray and ocean blue suited him. Castiel kept his attention on him, and it was hard to look away from his shining smile. Dean didn’t even really hear Gabriel introducing them. He watched Castiel’s four count and they began the broad sweeping theme of the first movement of Beethoven’s piano trio no. 3, playing until Sam’s violin soared above and hung there long enough to confuse everyone before they crashed their way into the lead line of Jimi Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady.”

Dean watched bow hairs snap, and nodded his head in time just to feel the wool yarn rub and slide over his shoulders, and looked up just in time to see Sam nod _him_ into tearing out the short solo between verses, and he just did it, fingers landing exactly on tune, his bowing as nonchalant as it was in their rehearsals in the music room.

He dragged his bow from the board to the bridge and blinked at the applause.

He’d forgotten.

He’d forgotten all about them.

Sam’s face was alight with triumph. Dean set his cello back in the stand and hugged Sam. Castiel stood up and hugged them both, and Sam wiggled away to go shake Gabriel’s hand.

“My, Sam. I think your union mandated appearance fee will go towards paying for those shoes,” Gabriel said.

“The socks too,” Sam replied.

Gabriel looked down at Sam’s bare ankles and laughed. “I like you, Sam. Have a seat. Hey, you two!” Gabriel called.

Dean turned his head and blinked. “Hi.”

“It’s time to stop gazing into each other’s eyes and do the interview!”

The audience laughed, and Castiel took Dean’s hand as they walked over. Sam, who had his mic clipped to his lapel, said, “This is my brother, Dean Winchester—”

Dean shook Gabriel’s hand. He really did look like he never quit smiling, even if sometimes that smile took on an edge with guests he didn’t like.

“And my soon to be brother in law, Castiel Bauer.”

Dean had his chest fondled and he startled, shied away.

“She’s just a girl, Dean, she won’t bite you.”

“Sorry,” he said, and held out his lapel for the microphone. “I was startled.”

“You about hit the ceiling,” Gabriel said, “but I understand that you had an issue with coming to New York to do the show?”

“Yeah, I have performance anxiety.”

Gabriel pointed his amber brown gaze at Castiel. “How true is that?”

The audience laughed.

“Dean has trouble performing in front of an audience,” Castiel said.

Gabriel immediately turned to Sam. “So how true is _that?_ ”

Sam immediately made a face, and everyone roared with laughter.

“Of course, we mean that Dean has trouble playing music in front of an audience” Sam explained.

“Well maybe the other thing too, it’s not like I’ve done porn,” Dean said with a shrug.

Gabriel pointed at Dean while the audience laughed and clapped. “I like you. So let’s get started.”

****  
  


“You did great,” Castiel held his hand as they walked up Madison Avenue. “You were funny and natural and you did your solo wonderfully and I am so proud of you.”

Dean glowed. Not just for the praise that made him want to blush and ask for more, but because Cas was right. He’d done it.

He wasn’t over it, but he hadn’t managed to sit in front of so many people and play music since…sometime in high school. It was a weight off his back. It was a stone, rolling away.

They stopped at a light and Cas smiled up at Dean. All the lights on the street reflected in his blue eyes.

“All you have to do is smile at me and I feel it,” Dean said, and Castiel lifted his chin.

“You feel what?”

“Love. My love. I love you, Cas.”

Castiel’s answering kiss was light as air and it spun shimmering threads of…light, Dean realized. It felt like sunlight filtered through summer leaves, moving spots of warmth and chill over the skin.

Castiel kissed him and the light shone on them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I'm at the end I don't know what to say.
> 
> I had a lot of help while I was writing this. I got consumed by this story and wrote huge amounts of it daily and became pretty much a one-topic horse in the midst of it, muttering things like "I don't have a dilemma" and constant fluctuations in my confidence about the story. I bothered the fine folks on my skype contact list constantly and lucky for me, defiler_wyrm, geneticperfection92, and messier51 kept me going every single day of the 63 days it took for me to write this story.
> 
> This is my first novel. I feel accomplishment over having gotten past the 20K word mark in the story and pushing all the way through to the end. I also learned a valuable lesson about posting a novel length work as I write it - the tl;dr version is "NEVER AGAIN!" so any other stories I write will hopefully be more polished than this one.
> 
> But I'm glad I told the story of Castiel and Dean Winchester, and I wish them happily ever after, and maybe one afternoon they'll come back and tell me what they've been up to while I've been writing other stories. Thank you for inspiring me, Castiel Bauer. The Light works through you and shines on me.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I'm ceeainthereforthat on tumblr, too.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "Appoggiatura" by ceeainthereforthat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111326) by [RunawayMarbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayMarbles/pseuds/RunawayMarbles)




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